


Tin Man

by kristen999



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visiting an abandoned outpost leads to some amazing discoveries but with dire consequences. Rodney and the team battle a racing clock as they begin to lose Sheppard a little at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin Man

Rodney ran a second diagnostic on the sensors, trusting his overly paranoid sense of self-preservation would keep them from being fried. He scanned the bulging dark orange sun only a mere million miles away, studying the bustling photosphere.

“We in danger of becoming Jiffy Pop?”

“Yes, we are. In fact, I brought butter and salt. Do you prefer Kosher or the Celtic Sea variety?” He heard Sheppard mumbled something about caramel flavored, but he ignored him. “I'm monitoring the sunspots near the equator, but so far, the magnetic fields are within acceptable levels.”

Teyla leaned over to study his laptop. “And you do not believe these flares will begin again?”

“Oh, they're still producing energy, just not enough to interfere with our equipment.” At the crease in her forehead, he flipped around his screen. “Sun flares can last for days, months, or years. In this case, there's no way of knowing how long they've been active. The corona is highly volatile because this star is in the process of becoming a red giant.”

“When's that?” Ronon grunted from the back, the first time he had ceased impersonating a plank of wood in the last three hours.

“Give or take ten or twenty thousand years.”

Ronon made a harrumphing noise and went back to doing…whatever…he did on long boring flights.

“Are these flares in a lull?” Teyla continued.

“In the last twenty days since we received the communication signal, this sun’s been producing B-class flares. Just your _everyday_ low levels of radiation.” Rodney finished arrowing down on the keyboard toward the last report. “After Lorne discovered our mysterious transmission on his way back from...wherever…I searched the Ancient database and found bupkis on this solar system. _But_...geomagnetic storms are always unpredictable.”

“What he's trying to say is that he doesn't know, but we're going to check things out on the very good chance that the sun's in a down cycle,” Sheppard piped up.

“You might want to return that physics degree you got from Crackerjack's when we get back to Atlantis.”

“I spent a long time collecting those box tops,” Sheppard drawled, bringing up the HUD. “ETA to the planet is ten minutes. All systems are still operational, no random outages or massive catastrophes...yet.”

“Thanks for daring the galaxy to prove you wrong.”

Rodney took a final scan of the mystifying signal. It was fascinating really. How long had it been transmitting? It was broadcasting on an odd low-level frequency wave, and the use of a long-range communication device was evidence of a technologically advanced society. No bear skins or mud huts this time around—barring the equipment wasn't a piece of tech thought to be an antenna to the Gods or something, or there wasn't an inane ritual, ceremony, or dance that needed to be performed to be granted access to study it.

He gazed at the distant sun, envying his teammates unawareness of its awesome power. They had no clue that the atmosphere was heating plasma to tens of millions of kelvins and accelerating electrons, protons, and ions to near the speed of light. It was awesome and scary as shit. All that resulting radiation across the electromagnetic spectrum could increase the ionization of the orbiting planet below, screw up communications, and damage all of their electronics.

In other words, this was a recipe for disaster and everything would be hefted onto his shoulders to pull their asses out of the fire if things went pear-shaped. Grabbing a power-bar, he started munching to stock up on brain energy.

“Honing in on the signal,” Sheppard reported. “Well, waddya know? There appears to be a building hanging out on the surface.” Throwing an accusing look in Rodney's direction, he adjusted their course. “Guess sensors are being more affected than we thought.”

“Weren’t we searching for something to begin with? Besides, hello. Hard X-rays. Just because the solar flares are producing low levels of interference doesn't mean they couldn't be wreaking havoc on our scans. A sun's got a lot of spunk.”

“Spunk? Really, McKay?” Sheppard began their decent and navigated toward a small mountain. “We'll just find a comfy little spot and settle down. Hopefully, there won't be any more surprises.”

Knowing that last jab was made at his expense, Rodney ran another scan, because hidden alien bases pinged on his 'be prepared for anything' radar. Apparently, it perked Ronon right up because he was leaning forward to peer out the windshield. They skirted close to the surface as John did a visual fly-by over kilometers of barren purple rock with scattered shades of rusty red. Rodney's computer confirmed large deposits of hematite and quartz, and an atmosphere composed of higher concentrations of CO2, although the air was still suitable for breathing.

“Just another inhospitable place. Think we should pick out a corner lot?” he asked to a few eye-rolls.

“Are there any life signs?” Teyla asked.

“I'm not showing anything,” Sheppard answered and nodded at Rodney. “You?”

“Nothing. Maybe it’s an automated signal.” Of course Rodney had uttered those words before and had them bite him in the ass.

“Well, we are explorers, so let's explore.” Sheppard landed on a flat stretch of nothing, powered down the jumper, and proceeded to check the safety of all his weapons. “Cautiously, of course.”

“Why doesn't that fill my heart with confidence?” Rodney tugged on the tether to his P-90 and packed his tablet into his rucksack. Eyes glued to his LSD, he whistled as he disembarked down the ramp. “Wow, according to these readings this place is huge. As in hanger bay huge. We're looking at the equivalent of an underground complex the size of a football stadium.”

“American or European?” Sheppard smirked.

Rodney didn't encourage his humor any further by acknowledging it. “This way. I found the source of the signal.” Glancing up, he realized the foothill of the mountain swallowed up all evidence of a facility, except for the large garage door looking thing. Boots crunching beneath their feet, they made it to the front of a thick layer of steel covered by inches of oxidation.

Staring at the mammoth entrance, John quirked an eyebrow at the alien keypad and what appeared to be a note with the combination of symbols needed to open it. “This is new,” he commented, fingers punching in the code and watching in shock when the massive door began opening with a groan.

“All that's missing is a welcome sign.” Rodney studied his LSD. “Still no life signs.”

Ronon twirled his blaster. “Doesn't mean anything.”

Teyla eased it down, back toward the holster. “Let's not invite any hostility.”

Shrugging, Ronon kept the holster strap unfastened.

“Alright, kids. Let's investigate.” John switched on the light attached to his weapon and everyone followed behind him. “Maybe we'll find a factory filled with ZMPs that need adoption.”

“Or maybe we'll stumble across a factory of T-1000s waiting to kill us.”

“Ever the optimist, McKay.”

  
\----------

Flashlight rays refracted off their misty clouds of breath, and Rodney's shoulders shook from the biting cold. “There is a power source in here; I'm just having problems finding the exact location.”

“Good, maybe we can find a way to kick on the furnace.” Sheppard's light bobbled off walls in tandem with his own shivers, the beam illuminating an upcoming intersection. “I'm not seeing any breadcrumbs to follow. Any guesses?”

“No more of that Mini Mighty Moe stuff,” Ronon growled.

“We took a right in that cavern on M2P-167,” Teyla suggested.

“Isn't that when we ran into that pack of giant dogs?” Ronon asked.

“I do not believe so.” Teyla studied their choice in direction. “I think we discovered that litter of _wawas_ on M2P-167. They were very cute.”

“Were those the neon blue rabbit things?” Sheppard stared about uselessly like a blind mole. “Could use something that glowed in the dark right about now.”

“Yes, that was them,” she smiled.

“Those horrible demon dogs were the size of small horses and it was M3P-191 where they terrorized us,” Rodney corrected. “Remember? They chased everyone up those old petrified trees and Sheppard almost got his foot chewed off.”

“Ruined a good pair of boots,” Sheppard mumbled. “We'll go right again. See where that takes us. Hopefully, McKay can see if we get farther away or closer to whatever is keeping that Radio Free Europe going.”

Shaking his head at their glorious team leader's tactical decision making for scouting out places, Rodney adjusted the perimeters of his LSD. “Huh...I'm reading a much larger power source here. More than enough to keep a—”

Ronon held up a fist and they all stilled and searched for signs of trouble. The big man cocked his head, weapon pointing in the darkness. “Something's coming.”

“Something?” Rodney whispered. With a .45 in one hand, his eyes flicked toward the blank LSD screen in the other. “Still got nada.”

“Doesn't matter,” Ronon warned, angling toward the sound only he could hear.

Sheppard and Teyla's weapons snapped in the same direction as Ronon's. Rodney swore his heart pounded louder than anything in an Edger Allen Poe novel. After several painful beats, he heard a set of footsteps approach. Whatever was making them wasn’t trying to hide their loud, rhythmic gait.

A person morphed out of the darkness, and as he got closer, a 'whoa' escaped Rodney's lips. The rest of his team tensed as the taller-than-Ronon figure was bathed by three sets of light. Rodney's weapon became slippery in his palm and he tightened his grip, swallowing at the... _the thing._

Steel blue octagonal metallic plates covered the chest, smaller ones across both arms and legs. Its neck stuck out several inches and turned like a pivot. While the body was humanoid enough, the head was black and oblong, lacking ears or a defined chin. The face was an LED screen with circular eyes and a mouth of hundreds of dots curving into a glowing smile.

It walked like a human, knee and hips joints bending with the soft hiss of hydraulics, mechanical arms out in a semblance of welcome. “I am Ten. How are you today?”

Sheppard kept his P-90 trained on their metallic host. He stared at it with the same unease he would an Asgard or a cosmic killer clown. Trading looks with Teyla and Ronon, he then glanced at Rodney for an opinion.

What did he want him to magically do? Determine if this was an evil Cylon or Twiggy from _Buck Rogers_ with a magical decoder ring?

Rodney shrugged and Sheppard grudgingly lowered his gun, signaling the rest of them to do the same. “Hi. We're uh...all fine. I'm Colonel Sheppard. This is my team, Ronon, Teyla, and Dr. McKay.”

It made long steady eye contact when each of their names was called. “Very pleased to meet you.”

The human quality of the voice was flawless except for a slight harmonic reverb. Over a com, it could be mistaken for someone who spoke English as a second language.

Rodney couldn't decide if they'd just hit the technology lottery or entered the set of _2001: A Space Odyssey._ “What did you say your name was again?”

“I am Ten.”

“Ten?” Rodney repeated, incredulous. “Like in Doctor Who?”

Sheppard stifled a cough and Ten blinked rapidly. “I am unfamiliar with Unit Doctor Who.”

Large coils twisted out of the rear of its head and lead into his back, along what would be a human spinal cord. Similar thinner wires snaked out of his neck and slipped under the large chest plate. McKay was awed by the paradox of its sleek dark blue metal body and the Disney-like animated face.

“Well, Ten, it's nice to meet you, too.” Sheppard couldn't have faked his enthusiasm more if he tried, though it was doubtful the android was aware of it. “Are there anymore of you around?”

“I am the only one.” Ten stepped closer, towering over Sheppard by several head lengths, and stared curiously down on him. “I have been waiting for you to arrive.”

“Us specifically?” Sheppard waited for an answer. The android's eyes flickered again, but it didn't verbally respond. “Are you responsible for the communication signal?”

“Yes,” it answered without further explanation.

Teyla approached the metal giant as if dealing with a confused child. “Are you in need of something? Supplies or another type of assistance?”

“Yes!” it answered animatedly. “I would like to provide assistance.” Waving excitedly for them to follow, Ten turned and began walking. “Follow me.”

Keeping his voice low, Sheppard whispered, “Am I the only one detecting a screw loose?”

“It does not appear to be a replicator,” Teyla offered.

“Does it matter?”

Nodding, Sheppard agreed with Ronon. “Based on our spectacular past history with AIs, let's proceed with caution. McKay, keep scanning. I want to know the minute anything hinky comes up.”

“Right. Sprawling mysterious base bombarded by solar flares. Home of an advanced android that I could spend a lifetime studying, who happens to be named after a sci-fi icon and who needs a few tweaks to its personality program. I'll just...” Rodney waved his LSD. “Keep an eye out for anything _hinky_.”

“Glad we're on the same page,” Sheppard said, taking point.

\------

Their host led them to a room stacked with towering equipment that reached to the peak of the ten-meter ceiling. Quickly scanning for harmful radiation or any other abnormal frequencies, Rodney breathed in relief that he still had a slim chance of bearing children.

This was the hub of all the android's activity, with rows of consoles and display screens all monitoring the solar system and the star that threatened to swallow it up in a burst of energy.

In the middle of the stuffed pack-rat room, Rodney watched the android watch them. Perhaps the whole constant staring thing should have pinged hinky, but his mind was filled with paradigms.

 _How was its artificial neural network set up? Similar to the Bayesian model perhaps? No, that used the expectation maximization algorithm. Maybe the Markov version, since that used filters for prediction during continuous streams of data._

 _Ohhh, did it simulate natural intelligence or use the elegance of logic and sub-symbolic processing?_

“You're drooling, McKay.”

“What?”

Sheppard smirked and Rodney snapped out of his analytical daze.

“He is not salivating,” Ten stated, then stared at Sheppard. “But you were not speaking of fact.”

“No, it was just...you know? An expression.”

“A symbolic use of words,” it stated.

“Exactly,” Sheppard smiled.

“Yes, I know of these.”

“Fascinating,” Rodney mumbled. “I'm curious. You're not a replicator—our scanners would have picked up on any nanites—so you're mostly mechanical, probably using a kinematic chain for range of motion. How are your actuators, um, your muscles powered? Electrical, chemical, or is it some hybrid of—”

“Actually, we were wondering about the signal that drew us here,” Sheppard interrupted, shooting Rodney a _save it for later_ expression. ”You mentioned waiting for us to arrive.”

Ten rotated its head side to side at them both.

Yeah, definitely using a sophisticated motor.

“I built the beacon to bring others here.”

“Why?” Ronon asked bluntly. “What do you want?”

“To help.”

Rodney eagerly bounced on his heels. “With what?”

“Whatever is needed. I am programmed to perform any task required. To fulfill the purpose of my designers.”

Rodney didn't know if he should spontaneously combust or break into song as he clamped his jaw shut before it fell to the floor.

\------

“This is fascinating,” Rodney said for the sixth time. “According to these readings, the core of this system's sun has begun the process of fusing hydrogen and converting it into helium.” Rolling his hand as he spoke he looked up at the gathered team. “Basically, it’s at the beginning stages of collapse, raising its internal temperature and producing all those high level solar flares.”

“And?”

Rodney learned long ago not to roll his eyes in front of Ronon; instead he pulled himself away from years’ worth of data. “It means that this signal has been broadcasting for possibly tens of thousands of years and the bombardment of hard X-rays degraded it to where it was undetectable beyond this solar system.” Turning to glance at the android, he cleared his throat. “I need more time for a more accurate calculation, but I suspect that our friend here has been fruitlessly phoning home for a long time.”

It was a bit unnerving to be speaking of someone or something while it stood there listening.

“So, what you're saying is that this andr—that Ten has been here twiddling his thumbs since perhaps the time of the Ancients?” Sheppard concluded.

Teyla's face softened, her empathy obviously lost on the intended subject. Ronon simply looked bored.

“Give or take.” Now if only he could find a central database and download the rest of those elusive answers to his tablet.

As if the idea of being in a room with a machine that could easily kill them all wasn't tense enough, said android went from stillness to motion with a hydraulic hiss, causing them all to reach for their weapons.

Heedless of everyone's reactions, Ten walked right past them. “It is time to feed Fur.”

It walked gracefully despite mechanical joints supporting hundreds of kilograms. They all followed the technological wonder as it entered an adjoining room filled with heavy-duty green plastic cargo boxes. Lifting open the lid of the nearest one, Ten used a scoop to rummage through a mulch of grains and other foodstuff.

“Looks tasty,” Sheppard commented.

“It is organic matter that fulfills Fur's nutritional needs.” Ten poured the contents into a bowl then pumped water out of a barrel and into a second dish.

They all flinched at a high-pitched shrilling noise that passed for a whistle.

A blob of shaggy brown hair and floppy ears darted out of another room, its hind legs clacking loudly, and ran right into the wall. With a quick shake of its head, the animal bounded over toward dinner.

Teyla squatted to her haunches with a goofy grin. “Is this your pet?”

The dots of Ten’s mouth doubled into an idiotic smile.

Rodney could barely contain his excitement. Not only could it key in on facial cues, but it knew how to reciprocate in kind!

“Fur is my companion.”

Rodney contemplated breaking into a happy dance at those words, but he still valued his dignity.

“And this little guy didn't appear on the life sign's detector?” Sheppard hissed.

There was nothing like a bucket of ice water. “He's what? The size of a cat? With all the—”

“Do not worry for your secondaries' safety,” Ten addressed Sheppard. “Fur is the only biological unit living here.”

“My secondaries?”

“You are the primary, correct?” Ten inquired. “The other Units follow your command.”

Snapping his fingers, Rodney got everyone's attention. “It's monitoring our tells. Facial expressions, body language, vocal inflection. We're like an open book!” Staring at Ronon and Sheppard, he cleared his throat. “Okay, perhaps more like a blank manuscript and a coloring book.”

“You were saying something about this place being abandoned?” Sheppard asked. “Before we commence with the whole helping thing, I'd love to have a look around, you know, just to be sure.”

“I will get the mover.”

Bending down and opening its massive hands, Ten gave two short ear-piercing whistles and the ball of shaggy pelt bounced off the wall again before skittering across the floor into the android's palms. Tucking the animal against its side, the android disappeared down the hall in three quick hissing strides.

“Did you see that?” Rodney beamed. “I bet it can reach speeds of forty-five kilometers per hour.”

Sheppard adjusted the strap of his P-90. “I'm more worried about it returning and deciding we should all be assimilated.”

\------

The facility was an encompassing place of nothing. Each empty room was like opening a Christmas present, and instead of getting a cool new toy, it was socks and underwear. They sat on a little flatbed car similar to those annoying vehicles used at airports, Ten driving them around with Fur in his lap.

“It might have been easier for him to tell us nothing was here,” Teyla observed as they rode through another empty chamber.

“But there used to be.” Flipping on his light, Sheppard guided it over the floor. “There are cables that line all four walls. This room's got to be forty by forty. That's a lot of wire.”

“And look at the ceiling,” Rodney observed. “It's been gutted. There used to be a lot of equipment in here.”

“The last six rooms have all been similarly stripped. Bolts in the floor, tons of empty electrical outlets. This outpost used to be a big operation of some sort.” Sheppard scanned the darkness. “There must've been an evacuation, and those living here took everything but the kitchen sink.” Staring at the back of Ten's head, he amended. “Almost everything.”

  
\--------------

What was that old saying? Always save the best for last. McKay's eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets and Sheppard jumped out of their ride before it came to a stop. Ronon looked suitably impressed, which was saying a lot, and Teyla's eyebrows curved into arches.

“Can we get more light?” Sheppard called out, his voice echoing.

“No need to jog!” Rodney yelled, feet pounding to catch up.

Giddy as a teenager at prom, Sheppard circled the first ship, tracing his fingers over the front windshield. The craft was Ancient in origin; there was no mistaking the metallic alloy and the flow of lines and angles of the design. And unlike the boxy aspects of the jumper, the forward section and stern were narrower. Glider-wings replaced the drive-pods and the whole body was a dark steely black.

Damn was it sexy.

Sheppard couldn't keep his hands off it, playing with the small tail. “I bet this is even more maneuverable than the jumper, possibly faster. It's not meant for transportation, the cockpit and rear compartment are too small.”

“It looks meaner,” Rodney remarked.

“Oh, no,” John grinned, petting the ship with all the reverence of a prized thoroughbred. “She's a beauty.”

Ten stood next to Ronon, dwarfing him. “It is a fighter ship.”

Sheppard might have imploded in sheer glee. It was hard to tell. Ten smiled.

“Is it operational?” _Please, please, say yes,_ Rodney prayed.

“I do not know. It requires an interface that I do not obtain.”

 _Oh my God, they'd just won the final round of Jeopardy._

Clapping his hands, Sheppard spun around, a glint in his eye. “I think it’s time we discuss that whole helping thing.”

“If I may, Colonel,” Teyla spoke aloud, her body shivering. “Before we begin a dialogue, perhaps we should ask Ten to turn up the heat?”

\-----

The key to getting answers with a machine programmed by logic algorithms was asking direct questions. It was perfect: no commentary, no arguing, just information. Rodney could get used that. Ten was the ultimate wellspring of knowledge, willing and able to answer whatever he wanted to know.

The facility ran off solar power, but the star's activity degraded all outgoing communication signals. Environmental controls were a novelty when your exterior was composed of metal and wire and not flesh and blood.

The outpost had been a black-market research facility during the war between the Wraith and Ancients. A fringe group of scientists and ex-military used the space to manufacture weapons and other pieces of technology. The Ancients created the replicators so it wasn't unheard of that other groups might have made strides in robotics and artificial intelligence. When the star entered the first phase of becoming a red giant, all the radiation compromised the equipment and the researchers were forced to evacuate, taking everything with them.

“Why were you left behind?” Sheppard asked, nibbling on granola bar.

“The designers manufactured Eleven through Twenty-One. Each model was more advanced than my mine. There was only room for them.”

“They couldn't fit one more robot?” Ronon challenged.

“There were weight constrictions,” Ten answered.

Teyla listened, eying the fluffy animal playing at the android's large oval-shaped feet. “What happened?”

“I was set to standby mode with One through Nine, and we were connected to the mainframe. There was enough power to run our maintenance routines so that we could be reactivated if the designers returned. There was a surge; it overloaded my systems, triggering a reboot.”

“And your buddies?” Ten stared at Sheppard and the colonel amended. “Your fellow droids.”

“They were unrepairable. The biological matter of their neural networks was destroyed and the electrical surge overloaded their primary systems.”

“Wait a minute. Your AI is part organic? That's incredible!” Rodney didn't know where to begin. “Where we come from that approach was abandoned years ago. All our current research's been focused on statistics and signal processing. Your artificial neurons, are they—”

“About those fighter ships,” Sheppard interrupted, only caring about things that blew up or went really fast, and steering the conversation back toward those shiny new toys. “Is there any way we could poke around them? We might have the interface you lack to get them running again.”

\----

Nothing got the ball rolling on a risky venture like the mention of Ancient fighter ships. Woolsey gave his stamp of approval on the expanded mission under certain conditions, and considering the upcoming docket of missions, the possibility of having new firepower might have the added benefit of expediting things on diplomatic fronts as well. John gave the assembled search teams their instructions, pinning a grid map onto a bulletin board in the middle of their 'control center.'

Before committing time and personnel to this outpost, they were going to damn well ensure its security. Once the place was swept and they confirmed there wasn't an army of robots or a secret underground bunker of hidden bodies, then he'd deem things clear for engineers and researchers to arrive.

Nose buried in his tablet, paying no attention to where he was going, Rodney almost bumped into him. “Be careful where you're standing.”

“I'll try not to be in the way next time,” John drawled.

“A good rule of thumb. Hey, why aren't you out there sniffing around with the other bloodhounds?”

“Because I've got four mixed units of military and civilians, and I don't want to be on the far end of the facility if I'm needed.” He did a quick radio check with the other teams and caught his teammate staring at him. “What?”

“You just don't want to be away from your _precious,_ ” Rodney teased with a bad Golem impression.

“The other two ships are in pretty bad shape with severe hull damage. One even has the right wing sheared off. They've seen some hellish fights, but that first one...” he couldn't help the smile. “She's mighty fine.”

“Be sure to wear protection when you go on the first date with her.”

“Just in case you haven't noticed during our six-month absence, the Wraith are in some kind of civil war, the coalition's not faring any better with their own power struggles, and suddenly we have allies who don't trust one another because of a series of attacks from an unknown group.”

“Oh, I forgot all about that. Silly me.”

John released a suffering sigh. Everyone was wound pretty tight. There were about half a dozen treaties hinging on the success of their upcoming mission to M2P-263. A simple signing and toast could slowly turn the tide. If they brokered an alliance with the _Goft,_ then they would gain favor with the _Tenniki_ and so on and so forth.

McKay waved a hand in front of John's face. “You're zoning out again.”

“All I'm saying is a fighter ship or two would be an extra show of force and an easier way to demonstrate to our antsy allies that we can take care of those new raiders who've been terrorizing people of late.”

“Because the puddle jumpers are such yesterday's model.”

It was bad enough leaving Pegasus without warning, but during their absence, political chaos had boiled over, and in the meantime, a heavily armed set of thugs had started terrorizing worlds.

Irritated, he glanced at the whiteboard, searching the list of teams for a certain physicist’s name. “Didn't I assign you to Teyla's team?”

“Nope, I told you not to,” McKay smiled smugly. “I've been busy discussing cybernetics with our host.”

McKay only reached these levels of enthusiasm when a new Marvel movie came out or Jennie sent him a package of Jamaican Blue coffee. John didn't get it. “You're one of the foremost experts on the replicators. Hell, you built Fran. Isn't Ten a bit low-tech for you?”

“Are you kidding me? _Metropolis, THX1138, The Iron Giant—”_

“C-3PO.”

McKay rolled his eyes, his voice almost reminiscent. “We’re talking about my childhood dreams. Not the perfection of replicators and their ‘we're better than humans’ attitude, but a real-life android. It's like I'm standing at the crossroads between the likes of Robbie the Robot and Data.”

John was surprised by his friend's candor. Like himself, McKay was a door not a window to his personal life, especially anything to do with childhood memories or fascinations. “Calm down. I know whatcha mean.” He smiled. “It does look kind of like something out of the Iron Man comic books.”

“Are you kidding me? First off, Iron Man wasn't blue and he didn't have an LED screen for a face.”

Sighing, John shook his head. “Did you happen to learn anything new about—”

“Hold that thought.” Rodney tapped his ear piece. “Yeah?....Okay. _Seriously?_ For the love of...alright. I'll meet you there.” Eyes blazing, he shook his head. “Zelenka tripped over something and hurt his knee. They need me to replace him.”

Before John could utter 'go', Rodney shuffled off to meet up with Team Three. Doing a quick scan of assignments, John erased Radek's name off the whiteboard and scribbled in McKay's.

Soft hissing joints and the sound of metal on concrete announced the android’s arrival. It was like a video game come to life with its sleek body armor and wires. John kept waiting for it to pull out a giant raygun. The eyes and mouth, bright lights against the black computer screen, appeared to be 3-D. Sheppard verified the two marines following Ten around were hanging out a few meters away before he acknowledged the android with a nod.

“Unit Sheppard,” it spoke.

“Just Sheppard.”

Hundreds of tiny dots formed a brilliant U shape at him. John didn't know what to make of it yet. Ten had invited their teams to inspect the whole facility and continued offering to help in any capacity, including allowing them to repair the fighter ships and keeping them if they worked. It had a pet for heaven's sake, one it carried around with him all the time like a baby.

The animal's face and ears were covered by braids of shaggy brown hair. John saw its little pink tongue dart out from time to time, but it seemed content where the android held it against its chest, waving a paw at one of the wires around the android’s neck. He cleared his throat. “I'm curious. You said you've been living here all alone for some time. Thousands of years.”

“Yes.”

“Where'd ya get Fur?”

“From Fur's mother unit.”

He'd forgotten about going with the direct approach. “We calibrated our sensors and they detect Fur, but no other life forms. Is he the last one?”

“Yes,” it nodded. “Fur's mother and father units are no longer functioning.”

In other words, dead. But there was something nagging John. “And you got them from...?”

“The designers had animal companions. They left six with me. Fur was produced from their units.”

John had a hard time fathoming that little nugget. “You've been inbreeding your pets this whole time?” Ten titled its head downward, extending its neck a few inches, eyes blinking on and off like a strobe. John knew it was trying to understand his question, so he went with a yes-or-no statement. “All of your pets have been produced from the previous ones?”

“Yes.” Its head straightened and tilted to the side in a humanesque manner. “Do you feel this is in error?”

“No.” Crap. How did John explain this? “I mean, it happens in the wild all the time. But using the same you know... same family… over and over again—I'm not a scientist, but doesn't that cause medical problems?”

Ten stroked his companion’s fuzzy head with fingers that could easily crush its skull. “Yes. Degradation of the immunological system, respiratory system, and heart function. Deformity of the...”

John tuned out all the health issues, not really wanting the whole inventory. Ten might've gone on all day if he didn't interrupt. “And Fur?”

It put the little guy down, and it was the first time John had noticed the animal's mechanical back legs, tiny wires disappearing into its coat. “I have repaired the spinal, digestive, and autonomic malfunctions. His higher brain routines were inoperable, but I help with all of his needs.”

John was both impressed and sickly horrified. Mainly horrified.

For the first time, Ten's mouth became a flat line of light, his normally circular eyes almond shaped. “Why does this upset you?”

He was walking down a tricky moral path. Knowing that the android monitored his facial expression, John smiled. “If Fur is happy, I'm sure that's good enough.”

Ten stared at him, eyes flashing, then scooped up his pet with one quick motion, the android stood to its full imposing height. “You are not engaged in an active task. Do you wish to inspect the inside of the fighter ship some more?”

A rush of adrenaline spiked through him. Teams weren't scheduled for a check-in for another thirty minutes and John had his radio. “Hell, yeah.”

His preliminary examination of the interior had been brief but enough to warrant their investigation. Any pilot worth his wings could tell quite a bit about a ship from the outside and a scan of the cockpit, but he'd been jonesing for a more thorough review of the flight instruments and onboard computers.

Ten waited for John, his furry buddy curled in a ball in one hand, and easily forced open the three-hundred pound hatch. The ship was without power and John entered, feeling around with his hands toward the forward compartment.

Two bright beams illuminated the rest of the way for him, and with a quick backward glance, John noticed two spotlights that came out of the clavicle area of the android. “Thanks.”

Keeping its head ducked so it wouldn't smack the ceiling, Ten followed behind and stood right outside the cockpit where it would have a hard time fitting easily. “Are you a pilot of many ships?”

Sliding into a leather seat that felt tailor made for him, John curled his hands around the yoke. “You could say that.”

“And this is your primary function?”

“One of them, but it's the one I love the most.” Smiling, he rubbed his fingers across the panel, studying the dormant screens and the extra control panels, imagining all the cool shit they might control. “I can't wait to see her powered up.”

“Her?”

He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Figure of speech.”

“I have reviewed the mechanics of flight, but I have not been in any type of orbit.”

“Really?” John turned around in his seat. “Well, if we can get this bird operational, I'll take you up with me.”

“You will?”

“Of course.” John shook his head, appalled. “Studying until your eyes bleed is still nothing compared to the real thing. Trust me.”

His radio squawked in his ear and John taped his com, the words static. _“Col-- can you---r'd---us...we've....g..it...”_

“Come again, over,” John responded. Getting the same gobbledygook, he spoke over the muffled voice. “You're breaking up. Give me a second. I might be somewhere with interference.”

He stood quickly, the abrupt action spooking Fur. All John saw was the animal leaping away from Ten with a high-pitched squeal. John tried side stepping the pet and Ten tried grabbing the frazzled critter with its giant hands, his mounted spotlights blinding John.

It was a comedy of errors, because John zigged when he should have zagged and he lost his balance or tripped or something. All he knew was the sharp pain of his temple cracking against the side of the ship and the ringing in his ears.

\---

Rodney came running when he heard the frantic bursts of panic over the radio. It'd only been twenty minutes since he'd talked to Sheppard. Teyla was ahead, outpacing him in ridiculous fashion. They weren't far from the hanger, and by the time they both arrived, he spotted Sheppard seemingly in tact and busy keeping a team of marines at bay.

“Like I said, false alarm,” Sheppard said, waving for them to stand down. “There was a mishap and I hit my head.”

Teyla took Sheppard's elbow and led him toward a chair, the large android hovering close by to the dismay of the antsy jarheads. “Are you alright, John?” she asked, running her hands through his hair and pausing when he winced. “Sorry.”

“I'm fine. We were inside the ship, and when I stood too quickly, it scared the fuzz ball. I tripped over a few things and smacked my skull.” Glaring at the marines, he added, “It was my own fault.”

Clattering feet signaled Ronon's arrival, gun in hand. Several more marines followed.

“Would everyone just calm down?” Sheppard implored and rubbed at his head. “Please.”

“Would you try not to brain yourself the moment I turn my back on you?” Rodney demanded.

“Everyone get back to your search grid.” When no one moved, Sheppard growled, “Now.”

Those without the capability of individual thought complied. Sheppard's team did not.

“Are you sure you do not need to be examined? Dr. Fowler is here. She could—”

“I'm good,” Sheppard assured Teyla. “I just smacked my head.”

“In which time your brain could have swollen up to the size of a balloon,” Rodney huffed, arms crossed in front of him.

“Then you can pop it,” Sheppard challenged.

“If you keel over, you owe me dessert for a week.”

“If I keel over, it won't matter. But if makes you feel better, I’ll have Fowler check me out.”

Rodney didn't have a snappy retort and stared up at Ten's big, glowing blue eyes. “If you think this is an example of normal human behavior, just erase this from memory, because it’s not.”

  
\--

After five hours of poking through empty rooms and verifying that not even tumbleweeds were present, Rodney finally plopped down in the folding chair and nearly toppled over. “Oh, for crying out...”

“Are you alright?” Teyla asked as she pulled her ponytail free.

Adjusting how his ass sat in the chair, he settled his tablet on the card table and peeled away the wrapper of his MRE. “Fine, if you call this lawn chair a real piece of furniture. The manufacture is probably subsidized by chiropractors.”

Sliding in the chair next to him, Teyla pondered the dinner selection and grabbed the third MRE. “Shouldn't you take a short break? Certainly, you are tired after our search.”

Spreading a layer of cherry jelly on his cracker, he took a giant bite and dusted the crumbs from his keyboard. “Walking aimlessly around an abandoned outpost doesn't require much thought.”

“Maybe I'll sign you up for double duty on the next shift.”

“Oh, please.” Rodney peered up at Sheppard as he straddled the chair across from him. “My multitasking skills run circles around anything you throw at me. But,” he held up a finger, “I don't think you want to spend the next thousands years here, so may I suggest you leave me off the next round of scut duty so I can properly analyze the solar activity before we all become permanent guests.”

“And what's the possibility of that happening?” Sheppard demanded.

Tabbing down at the latest data, he shrugged. “Won't know until I utilize Ten's equipment. Unless I take a jumper out to do a scan.”

Tearing into the MRE, Sheppard waved a fork at him. “You just want a chance to dig around that lab.”

“Maybe. But you have your toys, I have mine. Besides, anything I gleam from here can only help us in the future.”

“You have a point,” Sheppard agreed, plowing his fork into the instant mashed potatoes.

Ronon grabbed the remaining chair, scraping the legs across the floor, and flashed him a smile when Rodney glared at him. Snagging two MREs, he started digging in without further comment. A working dinner was nothing new; Rodney solved some of his toughest problem when simultaneously refueling his brain. Although if he wanted true peace and quiet, joining in a team meal wasn't a suitable environment.

“Where is Ten?” Teyla broke the silence that had settled.

“He mentioned feeding Fur.” Sheppard shoveled more food into his mouth and proceeded to answer despite the fact. “I sent one of the marines to keep an eye on him just in case.”

Sipping a bottle of water, Teyla licked away a drop from her bottom lip. “You do not trust him?”

“There are many levels of trust.” Sheppard pushed his meal away, slouching back in his chair in a way that shouldn't be possible. “Do I think he's going to kill us all? No. But I prefer being cautious. I'd rather go slowly. Knowing what he's been doing for thousands of years would be helpful.”

There was a loud clearing of the throat and Rodney looked up to see the team staring back at him. Damn, he hated when that happened. “What?”

“You have spent the most time with him.”

Hitting save, Rodney closed down his work to glare at Sheppard. “Honestly, it's not the easiest thing in the world to pry specific information from him. Once he starts talking on a subject, it's hard to get him steered back to a single one.”

Ronon smirked. “Sounds a lot like you.”

“You're a laugh riot.” Inspecting his choice of fruit, Rodney popped a grape into his mouth. Sourness overwhelmed taste buds and he spat it out. Wiping his lips with a napkin, he felt an air of impatience boil up around him. “I don't know much. He cleans a lot.”

“Cleans?”

“Yes, Colonel. A very foreign concept for a guy who throws everything in a closet in his quarters.”

“Stop breaking into my room.”

Rodney resisted throwing the rest of his grapes at the man. “There's not a single layer of dust in this entire outpost. Actually, this whole place is pretty hypoallergenic.”

 _“McKay.”_

“The water table of this planet is hundreds of kilometers down,” Rodney explained. “He's constructed a number of drilling platforms to tap it, but without the proper diamond drill bits, it takes months to reach the needed levels. The repair and maintenance is unimaginable.”

“To keep his pets alive?” Ronon asked unconvinced.

“Impressive, huh?”

Because really? Did anyone understand the scope of such accomplishments? Rodney had a hard time fathoming it himself.

“That is very,” Teyla searched for the right word, “dedicated.”

“All part of his programming,” Rodney rebuked quickly. “He was built like most machines—to serve his creators.”

“Fur isn't his creator,” she pointed out.

“No, but the fuzz bucket is his responsibility, and keeping an animal alive here takes immense problem solving,” Rodney found himself defending. “Not to mention all the data he's gathered on the solar system. He’s explored and mapped out this entire hemisphere. He even terraformed the land to grow food. Again, for his pets over the years.”

Ronon snagged Sheppard's leftovers. “That’s it?”

“Well, I'm not sure.”

Teyla shook her head at Rodney. “I could not imagine living in such solitude. Perhaps being a machine is a blessing.”

“Yeah, and I thought being stuck in a jumper for two weeks was a nightmare.” If only Rodney could scrub those memories from his brain.

“You had other people there,” Ronon reminded him. “I once went six months without talking to another human.” The big guy rarely stared off into space, his food-laden fork hovering in midair. “It bothered me a lot for a while. Then the few times I ventured out toward a population long enough to speak to anyone, the Wraith would cull that town. So, I avoided them at all costs.”

Rodney didn't know what words to use at a time like this. Thank goodness Teyla did.

“That must have been very lonely.”

Ronon shrugged, snapping out of his reverie. “It kept people alive. You get used to it.” Teyla squeezed his hand, the big man smiled at her gesture of kindness.

“When I was little, there were many times where I was separated from my family, not more than a few days at a time during hunting or long travels. When Michael took my people, I felt incredibly isolated. Even though I was surrounded by my team and those on Atlantis, it was like I was trapped.”

“When I was exiled to Siberia, I was forced to work with people who only spoke Russian,” Rodney growled indignantly. “Of course, when they screwed things up, which was more often than not, suddenly they spoke fluent English when they came begging me for help.” No wonder working on the chair in the Antarctic had been like a vacation compared to his previous accommodations.

With the wet wool blanket draped over them all, Rodney wasn't about to let Sheppard off the hook. “Let me guess, McMurdo was the lowest pit of loneliness for you?”

“No,” Sheppard drawled, obviously not in the mood to discuss it.

“Seriously? What's lonelier than being a taxi service for a bunch of geeks?” Rodney pressed.

“I...” Sheppard scowled. “It was...”

Rodney hated the need for the dramatic. “Are you sure you don't have a head injury? How many fingers am I holding up?” he questioned, thrusting his hand in front of Sheppard's face.

“Forget it,” the man growled.

“No, no, no. We all had show and tell. It's only fair that you share.”

“You're right. It was McMurdo. The place sucked.” Standing, Sheppard pushed in his chair. “I have to check in with the security patrols, then I'm getting some shut-eye 'till 0400 when Lorne takes over.”

Sheppard was barely out of earshot before Teyla gave Rodney the look that caused both fear and guilt. “You should not have pushed the subject.”

“Come on. I know Sheppard safeguards his past like he does gate codes, but it doesn't mean he can't try on occasion.”

Okay, now Ronon was giving him _the same damn look._

With dinner finished, everyone got up to do their own thing, leaving Rodney the choice of catching up with Colonel Sulk or going another round of twenty questions with the walking technological miracle.

The quest for knowledge was too strong. He'd show up at Sheppard's quarters with a beer and the two of them could kill a few hours playing Star Craft when they got back to Atlantis.

\------

The astronomic instruments were an impressive smorgasbord of other alien technologies and Ancient tech. Deeks of archeology would be all about getting his greedy mitts on this stuff, but he'd have to wait—like in never. The data wasn't promising; the sun's photosphere was giving off B6 to C1 waves and seriously threatening the timetable of the mission.

Speaking of, after a few hours of the discussion of neural pathways, his companion was quietly pecking away at a counsel.

“What are you doing?”

Without turning, Ten replied, “I am writing.”

“Really?” Curious, he wandered over and glanced at the overhead screen, staring with disbelief. “Is that poetry?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Creativity wasn't something one could program.

Pivoting its oblong head around, bright blue eyes shrunk to marbles before growing back to normal. “Would you give your opinion?”

No, no, no, Rodney wasn't a fan of art. “Poems are not my thing. Got a failing grade for my haiku, but I had mad limerick skills that my professor found no appreciation for.” Ten smiled blankly, waiting, and Rodney clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Alright then. Let's see what we’ve got here.”

 _The room is empty  
I stand inside  
It is not  
I stand outside  
Nothing  
I stand_

 _Fur enters  
I stand  
The room is not empty  
Fur leaves  
I stand_

 _I stand  
In the room  
I stand_

 _—Ten_

  
“Well...um...technically it's fine.”

“Can you quantify your opinion?”

Rodney would rather play one of Ronon's sadistic Satedan games. “As in give it a score out of one to five?”

“One to one thousand would be a more beneficial assessment.”

Ya think? “Um, sure. I mean…I'm not a literary expert and academics weren’t ever my thing.”

Producing a filament out of the tip of its finger, Ten inserted the wire connection into the console. “I will produce the first hundred for your review.”

Gulping, Rodney stared at the screen. “The _first_ hundred?”

The astronomical console started beeping and Rodney nearly ran into Ten in his hurry to get over there. His first thought was _thank goodness, saved by the bell._ Then he studied the readouts and scrambled for his radio.

\----

Sheppard rounded the corner, weapon at the ready, screeching to a halt before he collided with the rest of his expecting team. Ronon waited for their team leader to finish catching his breath from his sprint across the outpost. “Gonna tell us what’s wrong now?”

Rodney didn't beat around the bush. “We have to evacuate.”

“What? Why?” Sheppard demanded, lowering his P-90 and looking all the world like he needed a nap.

“I don't have time to teach a course on the physics of solar flares,” Rodney snapped in exasperation. “Look. According to all indications, we're about to experience X-class waves and we need to be long gone before that happens.”

“But there were only B-class ones when we arrived,” Teyla pointed out.

“Yes, yes, but didn't I say such activity is unpredictable?” Rodney countered. “I'm thinking this little window for our visit is much smaller than first estimated.”

“You don't say?” Sheppard growled. “What type of danger are we in?”

Thank goodness he'd never considered teaching, because Rodney didn't have the patience for questions. “This system's sun started producing C-class waves, which are going to make navigating the jumper tricky, but I'm sure Colonel ‘I Can Fly Anything’ won't sweat it. The real crisis is that we're a couple of days away from experiencing M-class waves, and according to the data I started reviewing, this solar system has been bombarded by X-class waves for the last few decades. We're definitely in a lull to another giant buildup.”

“I'm guessing those are bad?”

Rodney didn't take Sheppard's sarcastic bait. “Each class has a peak flux ten times greater than the preceding one. An M2 flare is twice as powerful as an M1 flare and four times more powerful than a C5 flare. You do the math. We're talking about peak fluxes at 10 to the fourth power. Get it?”

His typical lackadaisical approach to life aside, Sheppard was no dummy. The man was thirty credit hours away from a PhD in Aeronautics, a fact Rodney found out by accident when he was bored one day.

The colonel mentally shifted gears, and all previous signs of tiredness vanished as he spoke. “I'll start an evac of our people. You said we're not in immediate danger?”

“No, this isn't our usual run for our lives with three minutes left. A star doesn't work that way. We safely have around thirty-six hours, but anything over would be pushing it.”

Nodding, Sheppard looked longingly at the hanger bay. “Could we get one of the fighter ships operational by then?

“Are you certifiable?” Rodney's voice jumped an octave. “No, not even with full crews working night and day. We don't even know the first thing that's wrong with them.”

“The Daedalus,” Teyla spoke. “She was supposed to return to Earth two days ago, but it was delayed.”

Snapping his fingers, Rodney beamed. “You're a genius.”

“Our engineers could transport her into the hanger bay,” Sheppard grinned. “Caldwell's gonna love landing on the surface.”

“Will we be able to join you?”

The question caught them all off guard, and they turned toward the android, Fur's tail happily tapping against one of Ten’s giant octangular chest plates.

“Um...maybe we should call a time-out?” Sheppard suggested. “Perhaps you could double-check McKay's calculations about our time frame?”

“Hey?” Rodney squawked.

“I already—”

“A triple check would be useful in this situation,” Sheppard told the android.

“I will go over them one more time,” Ten replied.

It was the first time Rodney had ever seen the android's mouth in a lax smile.

Sheppard watched Ten leave, waiting for the hissing hydraulics to fade to nothing before addressing the team, eyes falling specifically on Rodney. “There's no way he can come with us.”

“Why? Do you know the advances we could make with—”

“He's a security risk.”

God, why was the man so damn logical the one time Rodney wanted him to ignore reason. “You’ve completed a threat assessment, certainly—”

“A partial threat assessment for our direction _here._ Not as a guest on Atlantis.”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Thank you.” Sheppard glared and Rodney lifted his chin in defiance. “It's not like he's gonna go all Terminator on us.”

“All what?”

“Please,” Rodney scoffed at Sheppard's confused expression. “I know you think he's about to bust out an _I'll be back.”_

Sheppard bristled. “I have no idea what you're—”

“He's not a replicator,” Rodney implored.

Sensing the growing tension in the air, Teyla turned to Rodney. “You said he was programmed to help humans?”

“Yes.”

“Could he have a directive that prevents him from harming anyone?”

She had a valid question, one he wished he could guarantee a hundred percent. “I don't know. I'd have to study his programming code and it's much less sophisticated than the replicators, not to mention that his brain is constructed with organic matter which only—”

“The fact of the matter is...” Sheppard paused sheepishly at cutting Rodney off again. “We simply don't have time to analyze this.”

“We're just going to leave him for another thousand years? Perhaps he'll grow a rock garden to talk to since his genetically degraded pet's lifespan is probably at, hmm, let me see....”

“Look, McKay. I feel sorry for it.”

“We have been calling him a he for the last day now,” Teyla interjected and looked to their silent teammate for his thoughts.

Ronon shrugged. “Don't ask me. I don't trust computers.”

Rodney knew Sheppard was being all military, but deep inside, he had a soft spot for sob stories. Ten might be nothing but a machine to the colonel, but even Sheppard hated the idea of leaving the android behind in a virtual prison for possibly years. “Don't you think we could use his expertise in getting that fighter ship running? Even you said that having those around would help reinforce our prowess.” He had him hooked. Sheppard was avoiding eye contact. “Didn't you promise you'd take him up in the air? You said something about it over breakfast.”

He felt dirty at stooping so low, but Sheppard faltered and Rodney could smell the sweet taste of victory. “It would be like Luke taking R2 up for a ride.”

“Don't push your luck.”

“I'm not pushing anything,” he replied innocently.

Rodney had Sheppard at checkmate. He just didn't know it yet.

\----------

Advising Woolsey and Caldwell of their current predicament and need of assistance didn't require too much arm wrestling, especially when John used every opportunity to mention the words _Ancient fighter ships._ The Daedalus did an extraction and their engineers gladly handled the equipment transfer. The whole taking on an additional passenger required a lot more convincing, and he stuck McKay on the com to bludgeon them into submission.

Seven hours later, his teams and said fighter ships were safely on board, as was one android and his furry pal. Ten was under guard and John safely avoided the bridge, away from Caldwell's scowl. Granted, they were the same rank now after John's promotion a few months ago on Earth, but that didn't change the fact that a colonel of his ship was forced to taxi their asses and a potential threat back to Atlantis.

His and McKay's post-mission check up was completed first so they could have a private discussion with Woolsey before the regular debriefing, ruining John's hopes of a clean getaway to the mess hall, a shower, then his bed. All in that order.

McKay fidgeted next to him, and a headache that had been slowly gnawing away at the back of his skull decided to dig its feet in. “You can sit you know,” he hissed at him.

 _“You're_ standing,” McKay hissed back.

“Because if I sit down, I might not get up again.” John had never gotten his scheduled shut-eye at the outpost before the countdown to killer solar rays had begun.

“I hate these types of summons,” McKay complained. “Reminds me of being hauled to the principal’s office.”

“Since when were you ever sent to the principal’s?”

“Hello? I almost blew up my high school chem lab. I was technically in middle school, but Timmy Foster dared me to—”

John quirked an eyebrow. “You blew up a lab?”

“I said almost,” McKay wagged his finger. “There's a difference. And don't tell me that you didn't see your fair share of the principal during your pre-fly boy days. I bet you were a real hell-raiser.”

He quirked the ends of his lips. “Maybe.” John frowned because he'd done some really stupid crap in school, but he couldn't think past his headache of a single story to top McKay's.

His musings were interrupted by Woolsey's entrance. Their boss rounded his desk and leaned back in his leather chair before resting his gaze on them. “So, explain to me again why we have a seven foot android in our jumper bay.”

\----------

Having anticipated security concerns, John had worked out protocols with McKay during their ride on the Daedalus. Ten was under constant guard and confined to an area of the jumper bay locked behind a giant electromagnetic field that could short out the android's systems if he walked past it, while allowing him to work on the fighter ships with the engineers until further notice. Add in a tracking device and a gentle reminder that Todd had once been a guest, and they'd been dismissed along with a preliminary report due in the morning.

Having freshly showered, John pulled on some sweats and a fresh t-shirt. Feeling drained but not ready for bed quite yet, he grabbed a beer from his mini-fridge and snagged his laptop, adjusting his pillow to lean against it. Powering his computer on, he moused over his favorite movie files, trying to decide what to veg out to. He paused on the most viewed queue, his eyes glossing over.

 _Top Gun  
Speed  
Star Wars  
Terminator  
Die Hard  
Spiderman  
Enter the Dragon  
Gladiator  
Hard Boiled  
Aliens  
Men in Black  
The Matrix_

  
After staring blankly at his collection, he cursed McKay for screwing around with his computer. He didn't recognize half the movies there and he wasn't in any mood for practical jokes.

Closing his eyes, he rolled the mouse around and clicked on _Aliens_ to see if it was any good.

\---

Sleeping in was a rare occurrence, but there wasn't a mission on the docket and there’d been a six-hour lag between Atlantis and the outpost. He missed his run with Ronon, cruising through the mess for a late breakfast and swallowing his oatmeal and waffles while reading over the previous night's security reports.

He still had to type up something for Woolsey, then join Lorne later to review the marine captain rotations and assign personnel for the fighter ship detail to match up with the science departments. And ugh. They had to make headway on their strategy for locating the raider groups. Once that stupid treaty was signed this week, it would lay the groundwork for getting eyes and ears on the ground.

But first, it was time to get his ass kicked, or in other words, spar with Ronon. He'd promised to undergo more conditioning since their return to Pegasus seven months ago, and John was already behind on the aggressive regiment. Getting his clothes together to work-out, he paused, kneading a sudden band of tension at his temples.

Drawing a deep breath, he made a quick trip to his medicine cabinet for a few aspirin as the pain grew worse.  
\--

  
Ronon was warming up when John entered the gym. Of course Ronon's version of loosening muscles was beating on a heavy bag. Stretching, John began a few calisthenics to get the blood pumping, shedding his surroundings to get into the proper zone to spar.

Bending his left leg on the bench, he momentary flashed to another gym reeking of sweat and dirty socks and a large man with a high and tight yelling at him.

“Hey, Sheppard?”

Snapping out of it, John found Ronon shaking his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just got lost for a second.”

Stepping back, Ronon gave him the once over and handed John a banto's stick. “You need to focus.”

Accepting the stick, John rolled his shoulders and followed Ronon to the mat. “No problem.”

He really should have listened.

\---

  


“I thought you said you could walk?”

Ronon's words rang his bell and John shook his eyes open to find himself tilting sideways within the man's grip. John's arm was wrapped over the other man's broad shoulder and they made a great impression of two drunks lurching down the hall.

“I _can_ walk,” John growled, his head killing him.

“You're not doing a good job of it.”

They were almost to the infirmary and John didn't recall leaving the gym or entering the transporter.

A nurse greeted them and took John's other arm without asking. “What happened?” She directed her question at Ronon.

“Sparring accident. He didn't duck.”

“I did too,” John defended, recalling how the stick had skipped across his temple now that the cobwebs were clearing.

“Not fast enough,” Ronon countered, moving out of the way.

Amy—Amanda?—ushered him to sit on an exam table. She was a few years older than him with dyed strawberry blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He couldn't recall her name with all of the recent transfers as she tilted his head to study the area above his right eye.

Sounding motherly, she said, “You've got a nasty goose egg, Colonel.”

She then proceeded with a neurological exam that he had memorized.

Yes, she was holding three fingers. No, he wasn't dizzy. Yes, he did lose a few minutes of time. And yes, the penlight hurt his vision!

Smiling, she shook her head in amusement at his efficient answers. “Alright, you know the next drill. Date of birth?”

“June 14th, 1970.”

“Your name.”

“Colonel John Sheppard.”

“What's the capitol of the United States?”

“D.C.”

“What was your first car?”

“What?” he asked, perplexed.

Peering up from her PDA, the nurse looked at him speculatively through her wire-rimmed glasses. “What was the first car you ever owned?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One for patients who have this exercise memorized.” She frowned at him for the first time. “Can you answer the question, Colonel?”

John stared off in the distance, mind racing.

“Colonel?”

What the hell was it? Not Dad's Classic ‘77 Porsche or the beamer. It was black… no, blue. Shaking his head and wincing at the pain, John muttered, “I don't remember.”

\---

  
Jennifer scanned through her notes on Colonel Sheppard's baseline neurological evaluation. Sipping at her cold cup of coffee, she pulled up the results of his most recent post mission checkup, searching for any anomalies or issues. Sighing, she noticed a small notation about an accident on board a non-moving craft, that Doctor Fowler had given an all clear on site.

Walking over, she pulled aside the curtain and smiled at the colonel as he sat there on the bed, kicking his feet in a classic sign of nervous energy. “Morning, Colonel.”

“Doc.”

Ronon hovered in the corner, practically vibrating with tension. The current incident in question was a result from a sparring accident, and she nodded at him. “If you don't mind, I need to conduct my exam.”

“I'll let you know if I need backup,” Sheppard reassured his teammate.

Ronon stalked away without a word, and Jennifer pulled out a penlight, checking his pupils, pleased to find them equal and reactive. “How did this happen?”

“Ronon clobbered me.”

Jennifer moved over the examination light, adjusting it to get a better view of a knot forming at his temple. “Do you remember anything before that?”

“I cracked him across the knuckles. Must've pissed him off,” was his reply.

Returning the light back into place, she stepped back. “And what happened after you got struck in the head?”

He gave her one of his sheepish smiles. “That part's fuzzy. I got hit and then I was in the hallway.”

About two or three minutes loss of conciseness, Jennifer mentally filed away. “And do you remember the name of the nurse who cared for you?”

“Since we returned, I haven't gotten the names of everyone here, Doc.”

Jennifer didn't mark that against him. Pulling out a stool she took a seat in front of him, ignoring the colonel’s chuckle. “I know you went through this earlier, but just humor me. What is your father's name?”

“Patrick.”

“Your mother's?”

“Martha.”

“What did you have for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal and waffles, but they had the nerve to be out of blueberry,” he joked, kicking his feet again.

“Where did we go for your birthday on Earth?” Jennifer asked, mixing things up. After all, she'd been there.

He smiled fondly. “The Medieval Times dinner show.”

“What was the name of your first pet?”

The smile vanished.

Jennifer remained calm and relaxed. “Was it a cat or a dog?”

“It was....” Sheppard clenched his jaw, brow furrowing. “Come on, John,” he muttered to himself. “It was…” And he shook his head. “Damn it!”

“It's okay,” she soothed, trying to keep him focused. “Do you know your rank?”

“Colonel. Full bird.” He lifted his chin proudly.

“And who was the first military commander of Atlantis?”

“Colonel Sumner.”

“And when did you take over command?”

Sheppard gripped the edge of the bed with both hands. “It was...after we first arrived. After...” he fixed her with a hard stare. “What happened?”

Keeping her voice even, Jennifer never broke eye contact. “He was killed in the line of duty. You took over the next day.”

He nodded but it was half-hearted. She gave his wrist a squeeze, noting the uptick in his pulse. “We're going to get you taken care of. See what's going on.”

“Think this is some type of concussion?”

There was a desperate hope to his voice, because anything else was an unknown to him.

“I don't know yet,” she answered honestly. “There's a good chance it is. I'm going to get you under the scanner and conduct a few more tests, see where that takes us.”

Ronon was waiting for them behind the curtain, guilt and anger written all over his face.

“Perhaps you could keep the colonel company in between tests?” Jennifer suggested.

“He doesn't have to,” Sheppard commented.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Ronon answered, giving his a friend a you can't make me stare.

There was no doubting him and Jennifer left to find Dr. Kertesz.

\---

Four hours of pouring over data had her eyes crossing and fingers clenched around another cup of coffee. No sooner has she rubbed away the tensions at her temples did her office door slam open, Rodney steamrolling inside.

“Were you just going to wait until dinner to tell me, oh by the way, Sheppard's been admitted to the infirmary?”

“The answer is no, because he hasn't been officially yet. And is there any point in telling you he was here undergoing tests when I don't have any answers?”

“What's wrong with him?”

Jennifer leaned back in the chair, the polar opposite to Rodney's pacing. “I don't know. That's why I didn't call you.”

“Ronon and Teyla told me he has some type of memory loss. Sheppard's been knocked in the head a few times before and hasn't ever suffered memory loss as a result.” Jennifer opened her mouth to disagree, being she was the colonel's physician, but Rodney bowled right over any rebuke. “And that's not counting the times he's forgotten who he was for a day or two off-world. Because he's always bounced back.”

“Rodney, take a deep breath before you hyperventilate. As of now, all we know is that Colonel Sheppard is missing a few occurrences and we're working very hard on the cause.”

“Is it retrograde amnesia?” he asked fearfully.

“Sit,” she ordered, unable to stand the dread in his eyes.

For the first time since he barreled in, Rodney actually obeyed and slumped in the chair. “I'm sorry. I was up all night talking to Ten about his visual sensor array and I forgot to eat dinner, unless you call those cupcakes you left in my lab food. And then I was on my way to breakfast, which happened to be lunch, and I ran into Teyla.”

Pulling out an apple she was saving for later, Jennifer shoved it into his hands. “Eat this and don't talk. Listen.” Verifying she had his attention, Jennifer went on. “We've run a head CT and an MRI and have ruled out any type of brain injury or trauma. After the colonel has completed a full neurological exam with Dr. Kertesz, I'll consult his opinion and we'll go from there.”

“So, it's not a concussion?”

“No. I said there was no obvious signs of bleeds or tears in the brain. His memory loss is sporadic, but it's all long term, which rules out most major types of amnesia.” Her answers weren’t alleviating his agitation and Jennifer regretted not being able to calm him.

“He smacked his head in some incident during our last mission. Could it be that he's just been hit two times in succession?”

“Secondary concussive syndrome is on my list.”

His eyes got real big and he switched to his default defense mechanism when faced with stressful situations. “I told him that his brains was going to swell up like a balloon!”

Moving closer, she kneaded his neck. “Ever since your experience with Second Childhood last year you’ve been very...sensitive to this stuff.”

“Oh, no. Have you—”

“I've ruled out the parasite you were infected with and Kirsan Fever, including any variations that we know of,” Jennifer reassured him.

Rodney rose to his feet and she planted her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Look. I know how much you hate not being in control of things, but you're going to have to do something you're not very good at. And that's be patient.”

“Right. I'll just go run a diagnostic on the city's plumbing,” he replied flippantly.

“Just because your expertise doesn't involve medicine doesn't mean you can't help. If anyone knows what the colonel is going through, it's you.”

Jennifer watched him deflate, wishing she had a magic wand to make everything better.

“You know I'm good at fixing things with my brain not with...you know...”

“Words?” Jennifer ruffled his hair. “Yeah, but this time, why not give it a shot?”

\----

They had Sheppard in the back of the infirmary, but Rodney had tuned out the reasons why. The colonel sat in a chair dressed in scrubs, trying not to look like a man quietly freaking out while Ronon and Teyla kept him occupied with small talk.

“What did Keller say?” Ronon demanded.

“Nothing useful. Did the other quack mention anything relative?” Rodney countered, taking a seat on the bed.

“No,” Sheppard answered. “He asked me a million questions and scribbled in his notebook.”

“And?” Rodney prodded.

“And what?” Sheppard snapped. “Seems I have more holes in my memory than a piece of Swiss cheese.”

“But you remember us,” Teyla stated. “You remember Atlantis and your duties.”

“But not my first girlfriend or my favorite music...among other things,” Sheppard muttered and looked away.

“Those don't matter,” Ronon challenged.

“Yeah?” Sheppard growled. “And how long before I forget how to shoot a gun or fly a jumper?”

A nurse and two male techs moved aside the curtain and hesitantly wheeled a machine inside. “Colonel, are you ready?” the older nurse asked.

“Do I have a choice?” Sheppard sighed, running a hand through his hair. Resigning himself to his fate, he nodded to Rodney to get off the bed. “You want me here?” he asked them.

“Yes, Colonel. This is an EEG machine, we're going to attach a dozen leads to your head, and all you just have to do is sit back and relax,” one of the burly techs instructed way too cheerfully.

“Relax, huh?”

Watching Sheppard being forced to lie still while court jesters wired him up like Medusa wasn't exactly a laugh a minute. Each lead took an excruciatingly long time to attach with all that hair in the way, while Sheppard pretended it didn't bother him.

One of the nurses came over, opening up the curtain wide in a none too subtle gesture. “I'm sorry, but the colonel can't be distracted during the monitoring. We need to record a complete cycle of alpha, beta, and delta waves.”

“You honestly think he can fall asleep like that?”

“He will eventually Dr. McKay. Until then, Dr. Kertesz would like all three of you to fill out a questionnaire.”

\-------------

After taking their fill-in-the-blank quiz, Rodney snuck back to Sheppard's fabric-draped cubicle and froze outside the curtain. The lights were dimmed and his friend's head was obscured by a spider web of wires like something out of a horror movie. My God, was that how he'd appeared last year, skull swallowed up by machinery?

“Stop staring.”

“What? Oh, no, I was...” Rodney hurried inside, ensuring the curtain was closed. “I...um…didn't want to disturb you.”

“I've got sticky leads taped to my scalp, and anytime I move, they tug on the skin. Don't think you can do any worse.”

“I'm not sure how to take that.” Rodney pulled out a chair and sat on the edge, trying not to let his eyes linger on the sideshow. “I took that questionnaire. It's not surprising you couldn't answer everything. I mean who remembers their first home address?”

“That was on yours?”

“No, but you know who much I suck at pep talks.”

He got a snort in reply and Rodney smiled. It wasn't so bad talking to Sheppard in the dark. It actually made it easier somehow to ask what had been burning at him. “Can you...” he paused and cleared his throat. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

His mouth dry, Rodney swallowed, the gulp loud in the air. “Your...your memories. I mean....are you aware of them going away?”

There was a long pause and Rodney berated himself for asking such a question when he was supposed to be here for support.

“No, not really,” came Sheppard's voice . “It's like someone asks me a question and I _know_ the answer, but when I go to reply, there's nothing there.”

“So, you remember remembering it? But when you think about it, it’s gone?

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Huh.”

The next stretch of silence lingered a bit longer and Rodney couldn't find anything else to stare at. He fumbled for words, finding his choices either too cheesy or too morose.

When he finally settled on something neutral, a _whoosh_ of fabric revealed an annoyed nurse and he was forced to leave with a wave good-bye and a mumbled “I've got to go.”

And it was only when he'd been ushered out that Rodney realized Sheppard probably hadn't heard him.

\------

A meeting was held the following day around Sheppard's bed, which was all kinds of disconcerting because the man didn't appear sick. He sat straight up with a t-shirt and sweat pants, arms crossed over his chest, all the usual protective barriers in place. There was no asking him how he felt, because he was perfectly fine—except for the whole not remembering certain things.

Woolsey and Lorne had joined the party, and they waited for Keller and her PDA of doom. Because really, why did she carry it around? It wasn't like it stored the Rosetta Stone of answers. If anything, they were left with more questions.

“The good news is that there are no signs of tumors, contusions, or any known disease. I've also conducted an ICD and Processing Speed Test this morning to rule out post-concussive syndrome.”

While Sheppard outwardly appeared relieved at Jennifer's words, he'd started digging his fingers into his biceps.

“If that is the good news, what is the bad?” Woolsey inquired, breaking the ice.

“After a battery of neurological and cognitive tests, and imaging studies, we're not sure what has caused these memory problems,” Jennifer answered.

“These lapses have been confined to long-term issues?” Lorne asked.

“Dr. Kertesz conducted a five-hundred question survey of which the colonel was unable to answer 25 percent. 21 percent of those questions fell in a time frame of more than ten years ago, while 4 percent were about the last five years during his time on Atlantis.”

“Just in case anyone was wondering, I feel fine,” Sheppard huffed, clearly annoyed at all the people stuffed around his bed, all discussing his fate as if he wasn't there.

“You did complain of a headache the other day,” Jennifer reminded him.

“Probably from all these damn tests,” Sheppard muttered.

“Is there no other way to narrow down a prognosis?” Teyla asked, sounding desperate.

 _Yes, of course there was,_ Rodney wanted to sputter. Clearly, Jennifer was all about holding them in suspense for her amusement. But he knew better, and he tried to reign in the adrenaline and fear riding shotgun through his brain.

“There are psychological exams, and the Ancient scanner helps alleviate the need for more invasive types of procedures, like a lumbar puncture or resonance angiography,” Jennifer spouted off as if everyone in the room knew exactly what she was saying. “However, there are a few more imaging studies that map the electrical activity in the brain and a PET scan to label glucose molecules.”

“We still have our mission to M2P-263 in two days to sign the treaty with the Goft,” Sheppard reminded them, re-directing their attention.

“Can't it be postponed?” Lorne asked, looking about the room.

“If we postpone the mission, we'll have to postpone the other six treaties. They're all dependent on each other,” Teyla reminded them all wearily, her eyes resting on Sheppard almost in apology.

“And it took months of going back and forth with gestures and formal declarations and I forget how many ceremonies,” Sheppard complained. “This was the final one and believe me, I'd like to forget how much time we've wasted there.”

“Perhaps Major Lorne could go in your place?” Woolsey suggested.

Teyla shook her head. “The _Goft_ stand on formality. Colonel Sheppard was the one who signed the first three parts of the agreement and he must be the one to sign the final.”

“I don't remember my high school graduation or the reasons why I can't stand clowns,” Sheppard told them bluntly. “I can do my job, but there's no crystal ball into the future. I could get worse. If we don't do this now, when all I have to do is sign my name and drink a glass of wine, than the last six months of negotiations goes down the drain.” Sheppard pinned Woolsey with a hard stare. “I read in yesterday's report of a raid on another ally. If we don't get these treaties in place, then we can't set up a spy network to track down those assholes.”

“Give Colonel Sheppard a cognitive questionnaire over the next two days,” Woolsey announced, looking over at Jennifer. “If you feel he's fit for the mission, then it has a go. If not, we'll scrap the whole thing and start from scratch.”

The meeting dragged along like fingernails on a chalkboard, Rodney tuning out all the chatter.

When things started breaking up and people dispersed, he ignored the way Jennifer bore holes in the back of his head. Teyla had to feed Torren and Ronon was needed to do something or other, although he had to be dragged away. It wasn't like Rodney had time to keep up with everyone's schedules. In the end, it was just him and Sheppard and the whole ‘slowly losing the pieces of your life’ issue.

He stood there, staring at Sheppard's fingers as they played with the end of his sheet. While not physically ill, the man had pulled the blanket across his lap as he stared off into space.

“Just because I'm not cleared for duty, doesn't mean you don't have things to do,” he said.

Rodney opened his mouth to dismiss such a gesture, eying the empty chair next to the bed, but Rodney's brain had other ideas and he found himself babbling. “I have to check in on the progress with the fighter ship. See if any of my minions accidentally blew anything up.”

Sheppard’s fingers stilled in thought and for a moment Rodney panicked. Had Sheppard forgotten about it?

As if reading his mind, the colonel growled, “I remember the fighter ship and our guest Robbie the Robot. Go ahead. Check on how everything's going. When I get out of here, I want to take that bird for a test flight.”

Instead of telling him no, he was going to stay, Rodney nodded. “Yeah, I think you're right. Besides, I'm sure you want to be alone to ...you know. To process things.”

Before Sheppard responded, Rodney was out of the room.

\---

“I bolted on Sheppard. _Twice_ ,” Rodney added, pacing in a small circle. “And why did I flee? Because every time I see him trying to act all stoic and calm, I know deep down he's not, and I don't know what to do.”

Spinning on his heel, he continued pausing only for breath. “What if he gets worse? What if...” Shaking his head, he steeled himself. “I won't let it.”

He stood looking up at Ten's neutral expression, its mouth a flat row of dots, programming cued to Rodney's distress. Wasn't it sad how he could pour out his feelings to the one thing that couldn't comprehend them?

“Can you not re-boot his programming?”

“It doesn't work like that,” Rodney sighed. “But thanks for the suggestion.”

“Which memory is missing? Virtual or backup?”

Snapping his fingers, Rodney smacked Ten on the shoulder, shaking his fingers from the sting but grinning ear to ear. “You may be right! The brain is just a complex machine, and memories are stored like a hard drive, so to speak,” he perked up. “Maybe I could see if there's a pattern to Sheppard's memory loss, and if there is one....”

Then what? All his gusto started leaking into a whirlwind of uncertainty.

A metallic hand whirred toward him and rested gently on his shoulder. “You must gather all data before you can analyze the results.”

“Yes, do not get ahead of myself.” Rodney stared at five giant fingers touching him. “Good point. I ...um...have to go,” he said, hooking a thumb backward. “Thank you and I...well...I hope you find your accommodations alright. I'm sure after a while, the restrictions to the hanger bay will be lifted and you'll be allowed to walk around more.”

Ten’s area was just an empty space, a desk, a toolbox, and a computer with a few basic programs.

“My facility is functional. I will be pleased to see the fighter ship operational. With the proper interface, it will fulfill its purpose.”

It lifted up its giant hand in a semblance of a good-bye wave, and Rodney awkwardly waved back at Ten before nodding at the guards to release the electromagnetic shield for him to leave.

  
\-----

John sat in a stiff, plastic chair across from Dr. Kertesz, a man in his fifties with thick salt-and-pepper hair and a plump round face. John laid his hands on the table, keeping them perfectly still despite the adrenaline thrumming through him, demonstrating to the doc that he was up for this week's outing.

He answered the man's questions with a false casualness, smiled when he knew an answer, and kept smiling when he fumbled over another, because if he really was losing his mind, this was his last chance to help Atlantis.

“What’s six times six?”

“Thirty-six. But that has nothing to do with my memory.”

“You're right,” Kertesz said, scribbling in his notepad. “I’m trying different types of questions.”

They played math games for a while.

“The square root of 169?”

“Thirteen”

“What's the g-force acting on an object in a vacuum?”

“Zero.”

Then the good doctor tried a fast one.

“Why do you enjoy flying?”

“Because it's what I'm good at,” John answered in all honesty.

“Is that all?” Kertesz prodded.

“I love to go really damn fast.”

The doc quirked his lips before sliding over a piece of paper. “Draw me your favorite aircraft in the Air Force.”

Seriously? Was he expected to play with crayons next?

“I can't draw, Doc.”

“Humor me.”

John wasn't much of an artist, but he’d sketched out his fair share of aeronautic designs. He took the pencil and paused, unsure what to do. He thought hard, trying to get the image in his head to paper. Slightly annoyed, he ending up using Kertesz's notebook as a ruler, cheating a little.

Studying it, Kertesz sat back. “Why did you change your mind about free drawing?”

Looking down at the picture, John studied his series of triangles and lines. “Because this was easier.”

The problem was, he hadn't meant to do something so simple.

\-----

Sleeping tethered to a machine was an exercise in hell, long wires confining his head to the pillow. His skin itched, and beads of sweat mixed with the leads glued to his scalp. John resisted the urge to rip them away. Focusing on his breathing, he stared up at the ceiling, the tiles barely visible in the darkness. Counting them distracted his wandering thoughts, because he was scared to death that at any moment, they'd evaporate into the ether.

He selfishly wished a member of his team was here, but with the type of monitoring he was undergoing, visiting was only permitted during certain hours.

A drop of perspiration ran down his forehead and he wiped it away with the side of his hand, surprised to find his palms were sweaty. Drying them on the sheets, his ears twitched at something outside the curtain and he strained, listening for the footsteps.

Nothing.

Closing his eyes, he willed tense muscles to relax, but his heart hammered in his ears, slowly drowning out everything in an overload of the senses. His eyes flew open and he pressed at his sternum, the flailing muscle underneath slamming against his ribcage. He imagined his heart bursting out of his chest like one of those aliens from the movie the other night, causing him to gasp for breath.

Needing to bolt, he ripped off the covers and sat straight up, snapping wire leads from the machine. The room spun around dizzily and John grabbed the IV pole when the curtains flew open. The metal pole slipped right out of his hands and the whole room came to life in a rush of bright light and loud voices.

“Colonel?”

“Colonel, are you alright?”

A small noise escaped his throat and he flinched as something plastic was forced over his mouth and nose.

“Breath slow and easy, Colonel. Slow and Easy.”

Suddenly exhausted, he found himself being eased back, his breathing easier, the sound of his exploding heart receding.

“There you go,” the older nurse told him.

Looking up, pieces of wire dangled over his face, and he was surprised at how much his hands shook when he tried removing them from his forehead.

“Miller is on call and he's on his way. Do you need some help?” another staff member asked.

“The colonel's freezing. Get him an extra blanket,” the nurse answered. “And you should page Keller. She'll want to be notified.”

“Right away.”

Feeling like someone had wiped the floor with him, John's eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Before he succumbed to sleep, he laughed at how his brain worked. “Thanks, Amy,” he muttered, proud at recalling her name.

\--

“What the hell happened last night?

“Keep your voice down.”

“I wouldn't be shouting if someone learned how to use the radio.”

“Last I checked, you didn't have an MD after your name.”

“No, I have two actual real degrees.”

“You'll have to wait for Dr. Keller.”

“I should have known better than to pull an all nighter doing everyone else's jobs for them.”

The voices were outside the curtain and John stared through heavy lids as the shadows moved away.

\----

He woke up the next day to find Keller and the rest of his team standing around his bed. “What happened to me?” John asked bluntly.

Pulling up a stool, Keller sat next to him. “We're still trying to figure that out. The closest we can determine was you had some sort of panic attack. We ran a series of blood and chemical tests and found indications that your system was flooded with cortisol and corticosterone ”

John rubbed at his gritty eyes. “What are those?”

“They're hormones produced by your adrenal gland, normally in response to stress,” she explained.

“But I was sleeping,” John growled.

“I know,” Keller answered, looking as tired as John felt. “We're going over the EEG data to analyze the brain activity prior to the event.”

“Does this have something to do with his memory problems?” Teyla asked before anyone else could.

“I honestly don't know. The pituitary gland regulates cortisol levels, which is governed by the hypothalamus. They share nothing in common with memory function.” Keller plastered on her physician’s smile for John. “But it might be a clue to a larger picture.”

John didn't like the sound of that. “You think there's more to my memory loss?”

“I think that what happened last night opens the door to other areas for us to focus on.” Pulling out her PDA, she entered in her notes. “We'll begin with additional tests later this afternoon.”

Translation: they had no clue what was wrong with him and he better prepare for a full day of inkblots and being stuck inside machines.

And tomorrow he was supposed to go on a mission? But they hadn't scrapped it yet and Woolsey wasn't around to deliver the grim news. “Are we still going to sign the treaty?”

Keller crossed her arms tightly over her chest, biting her bottom lip. That was a red flag of contention.

“Something happened?” John looked to his team, reading their answers in their grim expressions.

Ronon leaned over the other side of his bed, speaking for the first time. “One of our allies caught two of the raiders. They claimed to be working for us.”

That was the last thing they needed. John felt a headache returning. “They're pretending to be hired thugs?”

“And that we are paying them to stir distrust” Teyla said in disdain. “Some members of the Coalition are trying to use the whole thing as propaganda against other planets reestablishing ties with us.”

In other words, the treaty signing with the _Goft_ became even more important.

“I'll be fine,” John told them.

“I wouldn't call having your brain flooded with hormones for no reason a sign of complete health,” McKay mumbled.

Teyla sent a daggered look at McKay before settling her gaze on John. “We have told the Goft council that you are unwell, but despite risks to your health, you are going to sign it. They are deeply honored.”

All he had to do was sign his name, shake hands, and leave.

Piece of cake.

\-----

Traveling in the jumper, away from prying questions and beeping machines should have given John a reason to be excited. Instead, he was a knot of tension and misery. Being relegated to the co-pilot’s seat only rubbed him the wrong way as he scowled at Lorne, who kept giving him weary looks. McKay sat directly behind John, which really bugged the shit out of him. He could practically feel the man’s eyes drill holes into the back of his skull.

“Will you stop it,” he snapped at him.

“Stop what?”

John dug his fingers the armrest.

“The weather should be pleasant,” Teyla spoke from the back. “It is the height of spring on the planet.”

John wasn’t in the mood for idle discussion of the weather or crop yields. His knee bounced impatiently, and he found himself leaning forward to inspect the stars. The Goft were real assholes for not allowing them through the gate on their world until they were _officially allies_ , which forced them to travel to a nearby space gate in a neighboring system. Travel time was short, less than an hour there, but the seconds crawled by like millions of ants across his skin.

“You alright, sir?” Lorne asked.

“Fine.”

“You’re kind of fidgeting.”

“It’s a bit stuffy in here,” John replied, undoing the first button of his uniform.

“Environmental controls are normal, sir.”

“Are you feeling alright, John?” Teyla inquired.

 _Just dandy, how are you?_ But John kept his bark in place. “I’m good. Just…you know. Want to get this over with.”

Unraveling right before the mission wouldn’t be a good thing, so John bit his tongue when Lorne entered the atmosphere at a sharper angle than he preferred. John practically punched holes through the armrest at the mediocre landing. If they ever got some of his marbles back, he was going to order his XO to complete a refresher course on jumper piloting after today's sloppy performance.

It wasn’t very spring like when they disembarked into the balmy midday air, and John swatted irritably at a buzzing insect near his ear.

Teyla walked beside him as they neared the path toward town. “We will not be long. You are not required to do anything more than sign the treaty and shake hands with Almar.”

“Got it. No sightseeing,” he smiled breezily at her.

Ronon hung back in the rear, his looming presence like an oppressive weight across John's shoulders. Rodney flanked his other side, face pinched in worry. It was suffocating.

A wall ten meters high protected the square and they walked a few hundred meters through a guarded entrance. The town was robust for Pegasus, brick-and-mortar shops and businesses made up the center, small homes farther south. A population of thousands were spread out over an area the size of a small state, and John wondered how long their steam-powered little slice of heaven would escape the eye of the Wraith.

An entourage greeted them outside of a building ordained by statues and plush gardens. Almar was a squat, little man with long, braided hair and a fake smile. When the head of their council stuck out his hand in greeting, John resisted the urge to punch him in the face.

Gentle fingers gave his shoulder a squeeze. Teyla. For a second, John felt himself beginning to snap like a rubber band, but the sun felt nice on his face and the pounding of an impending migraine receded. The moment Teyla broke contact, another damn insect buzzed around his face, and all John wanted to do was swat it into oblivion.

\----

The ceremony was blissfully simple and to the point. John scribbled his name on a thick piece of parchment paper and clanked glasses of bubbly wine. They were given a copy of the treaty, and a small troupe of people started singing and dancing. Almar came up behind John and clapped him on the back, laughing a cloud of smoke from a putrid cigar.

Something snapped inside. John poured out his glass and almost broke it over the man's head when he turned around.

Ronon came out of nowhere, twisted John's wrist and knocked the glass out to the ground. “It's time to leave.”

None of the team questioned why and they hurried out of the meeting room, passing dozens of happy and cheerful people as news spread of the new alliance. John's pulse raced. How many other treaties had hinged on this one, and how many had died waiting for the agreement?

“Ronon, what is wrong?” Teyla asked, eyes on alert for danger.

“Can we use the ring now?” was Ronon's reply.

Lorne had taken point was they were outside of town. “Yes.”

“I'm taking Sheppard back to Atlantis,” Ronon announced. “We'll meet the rest of you there.”

John had just about enough of this bullshit. He jerked out of Ronon's grip, but anything he was about to say was lost in a hail of gunfire. He ducked to the ground in the opposite direction of his teammate, popping up to return fire, his fingers grasping an empty holster.

He was unarmed.

With bullets flying and voices shouting everywhere, John froze. Because _this_ was familiar—like a horribly deep itch in the brain, one he couldn't reach no matter how hard he tried. The smell of burnt flesh and ozone and how the sun beat down on him, small arms fire echoing in the distance.

Vivid images of men screaming collided with an intense black pall of anger building inside his chest—and then it was gone. Replaced by an icy chill down his spine. Filling his beating heart.

There was movement everywhere and three men beat a path toward him. Weaponless, all he could do was bug out. Run and crawl and fight his way back to safety.

But he didn't. Because in a single moment, he knew nothing could stop him and he was going to kill every one of these fuckers. Heedless of frantic shouts and screams, John grabbed the nearest fallen tree branch the size of a baseball bat and charged.

Bullets whizzed all around, dozens missing him as he marched unscathed. It wasn't like they could hurt him. “What is it? Can't aim?” he snarled.

John whacked the nearest guy over the head then jabbed the stick sideways into the other raider's throat.

Hearing the cock of a gun, he turned and faced the end of a pistol. “You're dead,” the raider sneered.

John didn't think, didn't say a word. He threw all of his weight into the guy, knocking them both onto the ground, the gun skittering away.

Pinning the man's shoulders, John earned a sharp explosive knee to the groin. Face twisted in a sneer, he growled, “Nice try.”

And retaliated by pounding his fist into the face below, again and again and again.

“Enough!”

Strong hands hauled John off the bloody mess, and he turned and smashed the person in the jaw.

“Colonel, it's Lorne!” the man screamed.

Except John didn't really care who it was and lunged, catching only empty space. He spun around in time to catch a red burst in the chest and collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs.

–

Rodney stood by Sheppard's empty bed, laptop clutched to his side. For the last five years, he'd seen his friend almost turn into a bug, tortured by a Wraith, willingly fly a bomb into a hive ship, and countless other nightmares. Never had Rodney ever seen him act so reckless or have so little care for his safety. And when Ronon had pulled the colonel off the raider he had beaten to a pulp, Rodney had never seen such rage before—not on John Sheppard's face.

He heard Jennifer approach and he turned to greet her. Gone was his bluster and desire to toss her version of science under the bus. All Rodney wanted were answers. “How are the tests going?”

“Slowly. Dr. Kertesz is conducting more extensive imaging studies.”

“Didn't you already scan his brain?”

“Yes, but it was a catch-all. As you know, the brain is a complex organ. With the event on the planet and the near panic attack the other night, we went back and studied our preliminary EEG results. We're focusing on his amygdala for defects or any abnormal metabolic activity.”

“The thing shaped like an almond?” Jennifer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Don't give me that look. After my own version of _Flowers for Algernon,_ I read up on the anatomy of the brain. That's the nuclei in the temporal lobe that regulates emotion. Keeps us from becoming instant psychopaths.” Oh, God. “Is that what you think is wrong with Sheppard?”

“We don't know, but research has shown that the amygdala performs a primary role in processing emotion.” She took a seat on the bed, sweeping her eyes over all the monitoring equipment that had been hauled in. “It's also responsible for stress hormone release, which might explain the sudden release of cortisol.”

Rodney huffed. “Would that explain why he thought he was bullet proof when he went after those raiders with a chopstick?” He was going to have nightmares about that one for a while. Just another on the pile.

“Maybe, but an overstimulation of the amygdala can effect the regulation of emotion. He might not have been aware of what he was doing.”

“Oh, that's just peachy. So, the military commander of Atlantis has a short circuit in his brain that can reduce him to a puddle of goo on the floor or turn him into Ted Bundy.”

 _“Rodney.”_

“What about his memory issues?”

Sighing, Jennifer rubbed at her eyes. “It is possible. The amygdala does have a function with memory and the memory of emotional reactions, but we’re still combing through the interviews that Dr. Kertesz conducted to see if we can find something that connects the various incidents of memory loss.”

“Then why aren't you doing that?”

“Rodney, we're trying, but we have hours of EEG data and imaging studies to go over, and there are only a very small handful of us who are qualified to analyze these tests. Right now, we have more raw data than hours in the day to investigate.”

“I'm sorry...I just…” Clearing his throat, he fumbled for words. “How is he? I mean... is he—”

She rubbed his arm up and down. “He's scared, like we all would be to learn that there is something wrong with your brain that you have no control over.”

“But he's not like he was on the planet?” Could he face that version of Sheppard?

“No. He doesn't remember much of the mission, but he knows what he did and he's shaken.”

She didn't say anything else. Jennifer didn't need to, because the implication was clear enough.

\---

John Sheppard, larger-than-life folk hero, was quite small when curled up in a chair in pale blue scrubs, flipping through a photo album with a look of absolute loss. It was quite the opposite of the raging lunatic acting as target practice for a group of raiders and beating them single-handedly. Rodney shook his head; at least this dispelled the rumors that the raiders and Atlantis were in cahoots. Go them. Their other 'allies' were waiting in line to have new treaties signed.

John stared at each page of the album with an intense type of concentration, as if trying to memorize the contents. Rodney had better things to do, like figure out what was causing the fuses in Sheppard's brain to blow.

But he couldn't leave, not with Sheppard appearing so...so fragile.

“Hey,” Rodney said, hovering by the curtain.

Flipping the book closed, Sheppard straightened, slippered feet brushing the floor. “Hey.”

A soft spoken, embarrassed colonel was wrong in so many ways. Rodney flopped down on the bed and gestured at the object in Sheppard's lap, noting all the bruises that marred his fingers. “What's that?”

Drumming his fingers over the leather-bound book, Sheppard shrugged. “A picture album. The one Elizabeth started during the first year.”

Heart sinking a little, Rodney sighed. “She did have a thing for real photos.”

“Yeah,” was Sheppard's reply, rubbing his fingers over the binding. “I don't want to forget these.”

“You won't,” Rodney said, hopping off.

Sheppard gripped the book like it might disappear with his fading memory. “For how long?” Hazel eyes locked with his. “Will I wake up in the morning and wonder who these people are?”

Rodney broke contact, focusing on the book in question, the fear a familiar quiver in his stomach. Sheppard closed his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. “I still have fuzzy recollections of what it was like when we were all sick with Kirsan Fever. Not knowing who anyone was...not knowing who I was,” he swallowed thickly. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “I...God. I don't want to be returned to Earth as some kind of zombie, thrown in some VA hospital and...”

Forgotten.

“I'd rather eat a bullet,” Sheppard whispered.

Oh, hell no! Rodney's head shot up. “Don't say that! It'll never get that far. Jennifer's got a lead on what's going on inside that gerbil wheel of yours, and it's only a matter of time until she figures out how to fix things.”

“Right...But just in case she doesn't...”

“She will,” Rodney insisted. “And she's not alone. I'm on the case and I won't...

“Did you become a brain surgeon when I wasn't looking?”

Flinching, Rodney looked Sheppard in the eye this time and never wavered. “No, but I am the smartest person here. And while this might not be a cave and I prefer a computer to a power drill, I'm going to help you.”

Sheppard clenched his jaw. “I can't be allowed to hurt anyone.”

“You're not going to—”

“I didn't feel a thing on that mission!” Sheppard tossed the book away, revealing an icepack in his lap. “It's agony to stand because I got hit so hard in the groin, but it didn't hurt a goddamned bit on the planet. Do you understand? I should have passed out or upchucked my breakfast from the pain. You make sure that whatever happened on the mission doesn't get repeated here.”

“It won't.” Sheppard pinned Rodney with such intensity, it took a few seconds to gather his conviction. “I promise.”

“I can't lose control like that again.” Sheppard's voice shook. “I...” he trailed off, averting his gaze.

Rodney knew too damn well what Sheppard meant and it was more than having his emotions slip through his fingers. It was about losing totally who he was.

“I want you to make me a promise.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no! Rodney forced himself to meet Sheppard's gaze, dreading the next words, seeing and hearing a rare mix of fear and trust. “If things get real bad...if there's no hope of a cure...”

“Do you trust me?” And this time it was Rodney's voice that trembled

“Always.”

Rodney's chest hitched. Sheppard hadn't hesitated. “I'm not going to let you down.”

\-------

Ronon and Teyla were waiting for him in his lab, and Rodney glared at them for being in the way. “I have work to do.”

Teyla blocked his path to his computer. “We want to help.”

“And do you know anything about neurology?”

“Do you?” Ronon countered.

“I know enough.” Placing his hands on his hips, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, it's a learning curve, but they can take as many pictures of Sheppard's brain as they want. I don't think they're looking in the right place.”

“And you have an idea to explore?”

It was hard to be a cocky asshole when Teyla was so hopeful.

“Well no, but I'm not allowing inconclusive tests to dictate my investigation. It's limiting.” Walking around Teyla, he sat in front of one of the computers. “I'm going back to Sheppard's first symptoms.”

“His memory problems,” she said, watching him.

“Exactly, there's a pattern we're not seeing, and all of those quacks are too busy running around in circles to go back to the original set of problems.” Pulling out a flash drive, he inserted it into the mainframe. “These are the three questionnaires Sheppard was given. Each one indicates an increase in memory loss.”

“We can go through them, see if we can find this pattern.”

He hadn’t expected that, but splitting the work three ways would expedite things. And there was no way he could talk Teyla out of anything she had her mind set on. “Sure. I'll set each of you up on a computer station. You've worked with spreadsheets I hope, because that'll help with the cataloging.”

“I have,” she smiled. “It will only take a few minutes to teach Ronon the basics on setting up columns and rows within the sheet.”

Ronon pulled out another chair. “Whatever it takes.”

\---

  
Graphing Sheppard's memories was a voyeuristic invasion of privacy. While Rodney was glad he didn't know how old John was when he'd lost his virginity, he felt a pang of sadness that such a moment had been wiped away. The same could be said about the death of the colonel's mother, an event he'd been aware of but not the when or how.

Happy and sad, traumatic and life-changing—there wasn't a common thread in the things that Sheppard had lost versus the things he could recall vividly. Sheppard could name every aircraft he'd ever flown, including the pros and cons of how each handled in the air and down to exact speeds and payload.

But he couldn't describe what they looked like or how flying them made him feel. That was from the latest Q&A, and it pinged on Rodney's radar.

Scrolling through the most recent questionnaire, Rodney gave Kertesz a few points for a set of handwritten notes that were the most telling.

 _Q: Is your favorite flavor ice cream strawberry?  
A: I'm not sure_

 _Q: Who is your favorite musician?  
A: Johnny Cash_

 _Q: Can you name your favorite songs?  
A: No_

  
Sheppard had been given strawberry ice cream and he loved it. And when he'd been played the Johnny Cash song that was the most repeated on Sheppard's iPod, he sang along to the lyrics.

It was like he was suffering a glitch in how his memories were stored. The name of the file was there, but when Sheppard tried accessing it, the link was broken.

Ronon pushed back his chair in frustration. “He doesn't remember things with a lot of meaning. The things that stick with us.”

Teyla rubbed at her eyes. “I agree. The memories that shape and define us are the ones he does not recall. It is like he has been stripped of the very things that make him John.”

“What do his memories have to do with what happened when the raiders attacked?” Ronon asked in frustration. “Sheppard's a solider, but he acted stupid. Suicidal.”

“No, he acted impulsively.” Rodney stared at them. “And not in the normal, Sheppard way of thinking of others before himself, but because something in his brain wasn't working properly. He was acting on pure aggression.” Sheppard's words from earlier echoed in his head. “To the point where he didn't feel a damn thing. Emotionally or physically.”

“Still don't see the connection,” Ronon growled in defeat.

“One of the amygdala's primary roles is the formation and storage of memories associated with emotional events.” Rodney had both Ronon and Teyla's complete attention. “Research indicates...” but he wasn't the expert he needed to be.

“Research indicates that memories of emotional experiences imprint their reactions in the nuclei through connections with the central nucleus of the amygdala,” Jennifer finished for him as she walked into the room. She looked a bit sheepish for interrupting, but Rodney waved at her to go on and she smiled in thanks.

“These connections result in physical reactions such as tachycardia, increased respiration, and stress-hormone release. Following any learned event, the long-term memory for the event is not instantaneously formed. Rather, it's slowly assimilated into long-term storage over time until it reaches a relatively permanent state. The greater emotional arousal following a learned event enhances a person's retention of it.”

“Well, that's a mouthful,” Rodney concluded.

Teyla put the results of her chart on the overhead LSD screen for Jennifer's review. “All of John's missing memories are the result of very emotional events. Ones he may have based a learned response on. The first time he kissed someone or the first time he learned how to fly. If this amygdala is responsible for these formed responses, maybe that is why only these strong memories have been affected.”

Jennifer studied the charts, eyes widening. “Damage to the amygdala impairs both the acquisition and expression of emotional responses. Such damage might also explain why the pre-frontal cortex is experiencing disruptions in neurotransmitter and hormone release.”

“Will discovering these connections help John?” Teyla asked, fingers gripping the console.  
Jennifer's expression was neutral. “We are focusing our study on the colonel's amygdala. He's scheduled for a more extensive PET scan that will produce a three-dimensional image of the functional processes of his brain.”

“But you didn't come by to regale us with your knowledge, did you?” Rodney felt his gut twist. “What happened?”

Taking a deep breath, Jennifer schooled her face into perfect professionalism. Except that Rodney could see right through it, at the lines of worry under her eyes and the way she thinned her lips. “The colonel experienced another set of episodes. He was connected to the EEG during both of them so we were able to record an over stimulation of the amygdala.”

“Did he become violent again?” Ronon asked.

Jennifer put on a brave face for the team. “No, the exact opposite. From all conversations and outward appearances, Colonel Sheppard is completely docile.”

\----

Sheppard was dressed in a hospital gown and Teyla sat on the bed next to him, stroking his fingers. “They are going to inject a dye into your IV in a few minutes and it may make you feel flushed.”

Sheppard was transfixed, watching her rub circles over his knuckle. She started to pull her hand away and Sheppard squeezed it tighter.

Teyla hissed and Sheppard’s eyes went wide in panic and instantly let go.

“It's alright,” Teyla soothed, shaking her fingers. “My circulation was being cut off, it's better now.”

She took his hand again and he resisted. “I promise. It’s okay.” That seemed to settle Sheppard down and Teyla continued talking to him. “Do you have any questions about the procedure?”

Wetting his lips, he started to ask but thought better of it.

“If you have questions, you should tell me, John.”

“No, I don't. If you think I need it...”

“I do.”

Ducking his head, he whispered. “Can you explain it to me again?”

Rodney couldn't bring himself to interrupt, not that he wanted to. He stood staring outside the curtain, feet frozen in place.

Jennifer slipped up next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Teyla's very good with him.”

“Of course she is. She's a mother.”

“Colonel Sheppard is not a child, Rodney. He's just—”

“Completely tamed,” Rodney bit out. “Unable to sit in the room by himself without being nervous.”

“We're going to use this PET scan to map the activity throughout his brain. Hopefully—”

 _“Hopefully,”_ he spat. “How many times have I heard that word?”

“This is a difficult situation. There's been an acceleration in between episodes, and the best thing we can do is try to capture the changes in his brain when they take place.”

“It's not just the amygdala, is it?” There were too many things going haywire for it to be one problem.

“We don't think so.” She tightened her hold—partly in fear, partly in reassurance. “There was a flurry of activity in the cingulate cortex which—”

“Does it matter?” He was so damn sick of all the false hope.

“Yes, _it does.”_ Jennifer pulled away. “It's an integral part of the limbic system, which is involved with emotional formation and...”

“Memory?”

Jennifer nodded. “We _are_ discovering the connection,” she rubbed her hand over the left side of his face. “We just need to find the source of the disruptions, and then we can figure out the cause.”

\---

  
The entire weight of the universe was on his shoulders, and while it was nothing new, Rodney felt overcome by the responsibility. How many times had his life and the lives of hundreds, no thousands, depended on him? Yet this felt like he was slowly suffocating.

 _“Dr. McKay, you’re needed in the hanger bay.”_

“What? I'm busy. I'm more than busy. I'm unavailable,” he growled.

 _“Sir, we really need you in the jumper bay.”_

“Too bad.”

 _“Sir, this is a serious situation.”_

“I'm sorry, my serious situation overrides yours.” But Sheppard's 'precious' was in the jumper bay, and he couldn't let someone screw up that ship. “What? Wait. Who am I speaking with?”

 _“Sergeant Davidson, we're....”_

“Well, don't do whatever you have planned. I'll be right there,” he yelled, clicking the radio off.

For crying out loud, Sheppard goes out of commission for a little while, and all his toy soldiers start falling down. It was a wonder Atlantis was ever secured.

\--

  
Rodney nearly barreled over Radek as he stepped out of the transporter. “Make a hole!” Radek did the opposite and stood directly in Rodney's way. Oh, for crying out loud. “Do you hear that? That's my impending aneurysm.”

Radek ignored him completely. “I was on my way to see you.”

“Did you know we had these nifty devices called radios?” And Rodney started walking.

“I knew you were coming. It was easier to meet you halfway,” Radek said, once again moving to stand in the way.

“What is it?” Rodney growled, weaving around him. “I have a crisis to attend to.”

“We have successfully restored power to the fighter ship.”

His warpath to the hanger suddenly halted, and Rodney spun on his heel toward a very smug-looking scientist. “Really?”

“The flight engineers have started testing onboard systems. They are worried about fluctuations and overheating of the engines, but yes,” and Radek bounced on the balls of his feet, “most of the craft appears functional.”

“That's fast.” It had been what? A few days?

Radek shrugged. “Our teams have been working on it around the clock. While old, the ship has been meticulously maintained by Ten. Without his knowledge, we would not have made such progress.” Pushing his glasses up, he added. “I thought the news might cheer up Colonel Sheppard.”

At the mention of his friend's name, Rodney's warpath was back on. “Why are you still standing there? Make sure those military Neanderthals don't break Sheppard's ship before he can take it up for a test ride.”

Radek shouted something, but Rodney didn't pay him any attention. He couldn't afford more distractions, which was exactly what he was going to yell at the jarhead who had demanded his presence. He swore, if the military thought they could take over the restoration of the ship once those with the brains got it functional, they had another thing coming.

And seriously, was the jumper bay always this large? His rant was going to lose steam by the time he reached the—oh, it would appear the grunts were meeting him halfway. The gesture wouldn't earn them any brownie points.

Wow. Sergeant Davidson was the shortest marine he'd ever seen.

“Dr. McKay.”

Okay, short but built like a bulldozer. Was the guy's arms the size of small trees? “Yes, what do you want? I'm not sure if you realize or not, but I—”

“The robot has been demanding to see you.”

“Android,” Rodney corrected. “And he has a name. What—”

Davidson did an about-face and started walking, forcing Rodney to jog in order to catch up. “Hello? Mind telling me what's going on?”

“During the dinner break, it reported back to its secured area and then summoned the guards, telling us it was a matter of great importance that you come down.”

“Did you tell him I was a bit preoccupied?”

“Several times. It wouldn't stop asking. We didn't want things to escalate into a security problem.”

By the time they rounded the corner, Rodney was ahead of the marine and outside the electromagnetic field. Ten sat on the floor, but as soon as it saw him, he sprung up, feet loudly clanking on the cement floor. “You came,” his voice reverberated loudly.

“Yes, I am here. Um...you need something?”

The field crackled from the android's proximity to it and for a second, Rodney thought Ten would walk right through it. “It is Fur.”

“Fur?” Rodney searched for the android's furry companion, spotting a lump where Ten had been sitting.

“He has eaten very little the last few days and now he will not get up.”

Rodney's eyes strayed from the unmoving shaggy mop to Ten's eyes that'd increased in size to take up half his LSD screen. His mouth was a thin frown, long articulated fingers curling and uncurling, making noises like a rivet gun.

“Assuming there's enough biological parts, I could maybe have the little fellow checked out by—”

Ten carried the animal in his giant metal hands and bent at the knees to Rodney's height.

“You can lower the shield,” Rodney ordered the marine.

The air between them fizzled and Ten handed his pet over. “Go with him, Fur. He will take care of you.”

The ball of hair wiggled in Rodney's hands, his nose sniffing the air before nuzzling into his shirt. It's mechanical back legs were cold to the touch, and Rodney ignored all the grotesque wiring. “Okay, little guy. Let's um...you know. See what our local vet has to say.”

Lord help those in zoology if they couldn't help a simple canine. Perhaps cyborg-dog was more appropriate, but who worried about such details?

The shield glimmered back into place and Rodney stared up into Ten's disembodied face. “I'll come back later. Okay?”

“Yes.”

Then Ten started pacing, the action perplexing. “What are you doing?”

“My electrical system is experiencing a slight surge in power and I have need to expend it.”

“Can you run a self-diagnostic or something?”

Ten ceased pacing, brilliant blue orbed eyes somewhat smaller. “I have. I am compensating.”

“You do that,” Rodney told him. The last thing they needed was a malfunctioning android.

“I will see you later.”

Rodney almost replied and realized that Ten was talking to Fur. Feeling awkward, it was Rodney who waved goodbye with his free hand.

\--

The nurse approached John's bed hesitantly, like he was a child. She was older looking, with crow's feet and fine laugh lines. He didn't know her name.

“Colonel?”

Was that him? Yes, of course. That was his title.

“I'm going to take your temperature,” she said, cautiously holding up an instrument. “This goes in your ear.”

John stared at the thing, unsure if he should break it or avoid touching it.

“It won't hurt. I'll test it on myself first,” she said, inserting the device in her left ear. “It takes just a few seconds.”

His head wouldn't stop pounding, but John didn't take his eyes off the nurse, all his suspicion dissipating with the _beep._ “See, 98.7,” she announced holding up the display.

It took five heart-stopping seconds before the numbers made any sense to him. John rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment, the middle of his chest getting tight. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, wishing it didn't feel like the world was crashing in.

“Don't you worry your pretty head...um...Colonel,” she amended with a blush. “Sorry.”

John smiled lightly in return, oddly relived that she wasn't angry with him.

Replacing the tip, she took his temperature. “You developed a slight fever a short while ago, but we started you on fluids and that should help.”

The nurse was efficient and quick, tapping notes into her PDA and asking if there was anything he needed. With a polite no thank you, she was gone and he was left with his thoughts, as spotty as they were.

He was sick of being a yo-yo, bouncing from one extreme to the other, helpless against it. There were hardly any signs before he was suddenly overwhelmed by sheer anger or filled with so much grief he could barely move. It was paralyzing, a flood wrenching him one way then another. There was no fighting it; in fact, he was always so swept up in the moment that he never knew that his sudden mood shift was abnormal.

Would he fall asleep tonight and forget who he was in the morning? Just a stranger in the mirror, unable to control his mental faculties, never knowing the reason why? Bouncing around like a pinball from one extreme state to another?

Completely powerless.

He was exhausted, a band of tension at his temples worsening as he held on to this little embankment of sanity. He felt something tingle inside his brain and his heart skipped a beat. His hand twitched and the tingle morphed into a solid wall of pinpricks down his arm.

No, no, no. Please no more.

He reached for the call button. If this was a warning signal, someone needed to know before...

 _Snap._

His head hurt when he opened his eyes. His gaze strayed to find a large man sitting next to him. John knew the man, the name on the tip of his tongue.

“Ronon,” John muttered. “Ronon,” he repeated, beating the word into his brain and triggering a flood of images in his mind like a rapidly flipping photo album. Guns and explosions. Laughter and goofing around. Everything told him to grab a hold of them and never let go.

“You had a crush on that geologist last summer,” he babbled, scratching frantically at the adhesive leads at his brow, wondering why they were there. “And you got drunk on Athosian firewater last month and confessed that you had nightmares about giant marshmallow men after you saw _Ghost Busters_ for the first time.”

“You're not allowed to tell anyone,” Ronon grunted.

Then John had been in the gate room, duffel back in one hand, Ronon standing next to him in a t-shirt that was a few sizes too small.

A weight of despair pressed down on him. Wiping at the tears suddenly in his eyes, John choked back an inescapable sob. “And you were there. At my father's funeral. When I didn't want anyone with me, you knew it was bullshit. Because I don't know how to admit when I need...need help...can't admit how much I've fucked up in life.”

“I'm your friend. I don't care how many times you've screwed up.” Ronon grabbed his shoulder. “You hear me?”

 _You hear me! If you leave this room, don't come back!_

John squeezed his eyes closed against the riptide of emotion. “I was afraid if I returned home after I walked out, my father would've thrown the door shut in my face,” he whispered, the flashes like talons. “It was easier to walk away from him. That way, no matter what happened, it'd always be his fault.”

“Sheppard?...John, look at me.”

 _“You look at me, Captain! You pull another fucking maneuver like that again, they won't even let you fly for the postal service. That's a forty-million dollar aircraft. You have a fight to pick with the North Koreans, do it after you pay Uncle Sam back for all of your training!”_

Sweat pooled at his hairline and John wiped it away. He stared at his trembling hand, balling his fingers up, but a tingle snaked up his arm into nonstop palsy.

Ronon yelled for help as John stared transfixed at his shaky limb, and for one split second, he knew. This was it. He was fading. And in a moment of clarity, John mumbled, “I'm scared.”

 _Snap._

“Colonel. Can you hear me?”

“Huh?”

“Please open your eyes, John.”

“What's going on?” he asked the voice, peeling open his gritty lids.

A familiar young woman peered down at him. “You had what we call a focal seizure, but you're doing better.”

“What?” he asked groggily.

Stethoscope, white lab coat; yeah, she was a physician.

“You’re experiencing some hyperactivity in your brain,” she answered.

Hyper what?

John stared at the ceiling, his entire body one giant ache. “I'm tired.”

“That's to be expected,” she said, fluttering between being nice and concerned. “Do you know my name?”

It was _right there._ “Keller?”

“That's correct,” she beamed.

But it was just a name, that's all. A placeholder. Lifting his hand to itch at the leads tangled in his hair, something tugged and pinched his arm. He noticed the IV. “What's this?”

“You're running a fever,” Keller answered, taking a seat in the stool next to him. “Do you know why you're here?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, remembering just bits and pieces. “But we haven't figured it out yet, right?”

“You’re experiencing increased activity in you hypothalamus, which has caused you to feel emotionally pretty up and down.”

John still had no idea what she was talking about, but he was more annoyed at how the tubing pitched his skin, and he grabbed the offending plastic.

Warm fingers stilled his. “You really shouldn't play with that.”

“Why?”

“Because you have a fever.”

“I don't see what that has to do with anything,” John growled, wanting the damn thing out.

Keller gently moved his hand away. “Fluids are a way of treating you. It helps prevent dehydration.”

“Oh. It's not like I'm a doctor,” John defended, but deep down, he knew he should have known that.

“We all have our expertise. I, for one, don't know a thing about flying.” Keller smiled. “Amy had a tray of Jell-O. If you tell me your favorite flavor, I'll snag you one.”

“Flavor?”

“Or color. That works, too.”

“I...I don't....” And the harder he fought to understand, the harder it was to focus.

“Don't worry about it, I'll make it a surprise. I know you're tired, but could you do one more thing for me?”

John stared at Keller, grasping for anything other than her name. He felt implicit trust without an explanation, but he still had his gut to go by. “What do you need?”

“Nothing complicated.” Pulling out a pad of paper, she slid it over his table. “Do you think you could draw me something?”

“Like what?”

“How about a plane?”

“Kind of a strange request, but sure.” John took the offered pencil and stared at the blank sheet of paper. Squinting, he couldn't get his fingers to cooperate and tried sketching the wings, the graphite making a little wiggle line. “Damn it.”

“I'm more of a stick figure person myself. Maybe just try the shapes,” Keller suggested.

Except he couldn't. John pictured the bolts and angles and could name every flight instrument of an F-18, but his hand refused to translate the information, drawing random scribbles until he broke the pencil in half and the rest of him was suddenly awash in a white haze.

“Colonel?...John? Are you with me?”

His head jerked, followed by one side of his body and the rest of him followed.

 _Snap._

\--

Jennifer poured over PET scans, studying all of John's brain events. Neural activity had accumulated like a firestorm in his limbic system. Emotion and memory, all of the abnormal activity had a connection. But how? She had no clue. Glaring at the latest EEG readings only confirmed _a lack_ of activity in those areas and increased reactions in the cerebral cortex.

Add in three focal seizures, a rising temperature, and...she glanced at the drawing. She'd picked a plane as a means of comparison and the results were dramatic.

God, what was she going to do?

Whatever was wrong, it was spreading, and she was no closer to figuring it out than she had been a few days ago. Things were rapidly going downhill, too. The last few hours had been a nightmare.

Rubbing at the tension in her neck, she read the dreadful results of Kertesz's last cognitive examination.

“Have you finished studying your tea leaves yet?” Rodney demanded as he stomped inside.

“Because I'd really like to see Sheppard, and your goons won't let me into his room.”

She'd been dreading this moment, and reading her like a book, Rodney stilled, face stricken. “What's happened?”

“Colonel Sheppard suffered several seizures in a very short period of time.”

“What?”

“I think it's the result of the massive changes going on,” she plunged ahead, not wanting to parcel things out. Like ripping off a band-aid. “The neurological activity has shifted areas.”

“Where is it now?”

Bringing up the image on her lap top, she pointed at the red areas. “The cerebral cortex. And it's progressing rapidly.”

“Is he...I mean....?”

“He can still communicate and hold conversations,” Jennifer assured him. “But he's having difficulty with abstract thought.”

“That's not much of a change. Not everyone is into thinking outside the box. Sheppard's very much an action guy. The military drills that into them, you know.” Rodney dismissed, but he couldn't hide his fear. It was clear as day.

Sugarcoating things was a disservice. Jennifer didn't want to hurt Rodney, but he needed to face the harsh reality staring back at them.

“He doesn't have the ability to distinguish between sensory experiences. He knows what a table is but doesn't understand that it's the color black. If I were to ask him what makes him happy, he's unable to articulate his answer because happiness isn't something tangible.”

“Maybe quizzing him on philosophy when he's not feeling very well isn't a measurable tool.”

“Rodney,” she sighed. “He didn't know how his IV helped with his fever. And before you make a smart aleck comment on medicine, his reasoning skills are being affected. Kertesz just conducted another neurological examination. Colonel Sheppard had a hard time understanding the difference between outside and inside.”

Throwing up his hands, he took his frustration out on her. “Congratulations. You know a lot about what's wrong with him but not what's causing it.”

“I don't know _yet._ Whatever it _is_ acts like a firestorm of neurons.” Steeling her reserves, she held his gaze, fully aware he wouldn't like her next words. “I'm going to do a lumbar puncture next.”

His eyes went wide in horror. “You're going to stick a syringe in his spine?”

“It's better than performing a brain biopsy. His spinal fluid will provide us with cellular samples from inside his brain. I wouldn't do it if I didn't have a choice.” Tapping on her keyboard, Jennifer pulled up two images of Sheppard's brain. The first one, where the limbic system was, was bright pink and purple. “This is a snapshot of the increased activity from earlier today. And this,” she pointed to an image taken last year during the colonel's checkup after his recovery from Kirsan Fever, “is what his activity should look like. All blue.”

Then she clicked on the next file. “This is the most current image of his limbic system after the hyperactivity shifted into the cerebral cortex.”

He leaned over for a closer look. “It's gray.”

Jennifer leaned back in her chair in a slump. “The hyperactivity has either destroyed the proteins and synapses there or caused them to become inactive.”

“That sounds really, really bad,” Rodney's voice dropped.

“It is.” Jennifer hated this. Hating being that person with horrible news and no way of offering hope. “Because in essence, the nucleic acid code and proteins are somehow blocking the normal receptors for healthy activity. We're losing Colonel Sheppard one piece at a time.”

\---

Rodney wasn't allowed near Sheppard during the spinal tap, thank goodness, but he found himself standing by his bed while the colonel was asleep.

He resisted the urge to wake him up just to have another conversation and reassure himself that his friend was still there, _all of him._ It wouldn't matter what they talked about. Eyes scanning all the monitors and crazy wires, he almost poked Sheppard in the arm, but rested his hand on his friends shoulder instead.

“Give me more time, John,” he whispered.

“You really should let the colonel get some rest,” a soft voice told him.

Spinning around, Rodney nearly knocked over the bedside table. “I was just leaving.”  
Retreating to his lab, he found himself surrounded by the tools of his life and helpless at how to use them to save Sheppard.

“Doctor McKay?”

“What?” he snapped.

“Um...are you okay, sir?”

It took a second to realize his head was buried in his hands, and Rodney swirled around in his chair, fighting the urge to scream, 'No! I'm not fucking okay. How are you?' But Dr. Orslo was a quiet, shy spry thing of a zoologist and Rodney found no amusement in terrorizing her. “Do you have something for me?”

Clutching a PDA to her chest, Orslo nervously kept pushing strands of long black hair behind her ear. “I have examined the android's pet.”

“Please tell me it’s being finicky about what it likes to eat. Has indigestion or something.”

“I'm sorry. I wish it was that simple. The animal is a _he_ by the way,” she corrected, actually demonstrating a little spunk. “Fur has several major medical problems, from the paralysis of his hind legs to being partial blind and deaf. Not to mention—”

“I don't have time for a whole medical history,” Rodney cut her off. “Just tell me if he's going to be alright.”

“No, he's not.” Orslo had that practiced physician’s expression for giving bad news. “Fur is in renal failure. He has been for a long time. It appears he's been given extensive care, a type of dialysis, but his liver had shut down now as well, and it's only a matter of time before his heart goes.”

It was like a dark cloud followed him everywhere.

“How long?”

“Maybe a couple of days.”

“He was just fine!” Rodney jumped out of his seat and lowered his voice as Orslo flinched. “I mean, he was wagging his tail and doing you know...dog stuff.”

“Animals have a much harder time communicating when they hurt,” Orslo consoled him.

“Sometimes, we don't ever know until it's near the end.”

“Great.”

“Fur is in a lot of pain, Dr. McKay. It would be more humane if we—”

“Don't! Just...just don't. I'll go and um...pick him up,” Rodney mumbled, brushing pass her. “Fat good anyone is around here when it comes to actually saving people.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Rodney stormed out of the lab.

\---

It's just a dog and only a part-dog at that. _An inbreed travesty_ , he told himself, securing the animal closer to his shirt. “You're heavier than my cat and not as soft. And all these wires are not conducive to petting. I mean, is there any other reason for having you?

“And let's face it. Given the news about your…well, your impending health issues is harder on me than it'll be on your owner. I'll just hand you over and get back to—well, get back to being a complete and utter failure. Because what's building a gate bridge between trillions of miles of space and being able to crush all forms of theoretical physics in my sleep compared to finding a way to help Sheppard?”

Fur made a trilling noise and Rodney held it closer to his chest. “That's right. Nothing.”

Walking through the jumper bay didn't take as long today, and he found himself in front of a familiar invisible field. Ten made short work of his cell, metal legs pumping back and forth in a demonstration of precision.

Had he'd been pacing the whole time?

“Lower the shield,” Rodney told the marine.

Davidson didn't look too thrilled at the request with their guest so agitated and leveled his weapon at ready.

Entering the space, Rodney plastered on a smile. “Hey.”

Ten stopped, his neck pivoting to the right. His voice was strangely calm, eyes and mouth thin and small. “There's something wrong.”

Guess there was no beating around the bush.

“It looks like Fur has several er...system-wide malfunctions.”

Ten extended his neck a few inches without stepping forward. “Can he be fixed?”

Rodney licked his lips nervously, cursing the irony of the role reversal. “His modifications are fairly complex, and well, we just don't have the expertise.”

Ten's eyes doubled, then tripled their size, going from azure to blazing sapphire, his mouth a set of sharp up and down lines. “He’s... _dying?”_

“Yes, I'm...um...sorry?” Rodney held the pet out for the android to take.

“I...” Ten took a clumsy step back. “I don't understand what's happening.”

“Don't understand what?”

“These new subroutines.” Ten's eyes flashed. “Re-directing them is difficult. There is corruption in the logic loop.”

Now Rodney was the one taking a step back. “New subroutines?”

“There’s no need for concern.” Ten's LED screen reverted back to his normal expression and he whistled loudly. Fur jumped out of Rodney's hands and onto wobbly legs to skimmer toward it's owner. “I will make the needed adjustments. Thank you for returning him to me.”

 _“Rodney, it's Jennifer. Please respond.”_

“I'm a little busy here, can't it—”

 _“It's important.”_

Heart pounding, Rodney yelled at the marine standing guard. “Hurry up!” Glancing back at Ten, he left the android with his pet and headed back to the transporter.

\---

 _It's important_ could have many meanings. Like Sheppard had been miraculously cured. Yeah, right, because Rodney wasn't that lucky. More than likely, it was 'time to say your goodbye because you weren’t able to save him.' That Rodney could believe. And it was for this reason that he suddenly wasn't in a rush, hoping the transporter would malfunction and he wouldn't be forced to witness Sheppard's final moments.

 _You're a damn coward, he accused himself. Just because you don't want to see yourself in Sheppard's eyes._

The transporter doors swooshed open and he made a beeline for the infirmary, gathering optimism that he normally scoffed at, and gulped down his fear. If Sheppard could hang out in space for twenty minutes waiting to blow himself up inside a Hive, then Rodney could face whatever was waiting for him.

\----  
Teyla was also rushing through the hallway, and together they entered the infirmary, finding Ronon wearing away the floor.

“What has happened?” Teyla demanded.

“Don't know. I just got here. Been waiting on you guys.”

Jennifer emerged from around the corner, Woolsey and Lorne hot on her heels. “I know what's causing Colonel Sheppard's condition.” Strolling toward a computer without pause, she brought up an image. “It's a virus.”

“What? Like rabies?” Rodney asked horrified.

“No,” Jennifer answered. “It's an artificial virus... made up of molecular-sized machines.”

“Machines?” Woolsey echoed. “You mean nanites?”

“No, nanites are molecular _robots_ , which are much more complex, able to work together and form higher degrees of artificial intelligence,” Jennifer corrected. “These are synthetic nucleic acid strands. Very simple molecular components programmed with very specific tasks.”

“And what are those?” Teyla asked.

Jennifer scanned her audience. “They insert themselves into Colonel Sheppard's cells and incorporate their genetic material into his DNA... so they can copy it.”

“Copy it? For what purpose?” Woolsey asked astounded.

“I don't know yet,” Jennifer answered, shaking her head in frustration. “But the process itself is wreaking havoc on his brain. Proteins are pretty complex—one misspelling in the nucleic acid code and proteins don't fold correctly, meaning they don't work and become destructive. By reproducing flawed proteins, they cause healthy ones to become inactive or cease altogether.”

“Wait. I don't understand.” Lorne scrubbed a hand wearily across his face. “Colonel Sheppard has been infected by a virus that is trying to copy...what? His mind?”

Jennifer scanned the anxious group. “In essence, yes.”

“What's the point?” Ronon growled.

“And why?” Teyla wondered, stating the same question on all of their minds.

“And how the hell did it happen?” Lorne growled. “It sounds like Sheppard was a target. You just don't accidentally get infected with a virus like this.”

“No, you don't,” Rodney hissed. And it really hit him. _Hard._ “I can't believe he did this.”

“Who?” Ronon and Lorne both demanded.

Teyla closed the small distance between them. “You have a theory?”

“I didn't notice at first.”

“Rodney,” Jennifer touched his shoulder. “We're not inside your head. Please tell us what you're thinking.”

“The first thing John lost were primary memories. The ones that shaped him.” He snapped his fingers. “Learning. He lost the memories where he learned an emotional response or ones that helped reinforce his current ones.” Seeing a mix of lost expressions, he took a deep breath. “Our ability to consciously remember something is not necessarily the same as our ability to respond to something based on learning.”

Jennifer's eyes went wide as she caught on. “He's right. The emotional system of the brain is one of the most powerful learning systems that we have, but it's an implicit learning system. Think of it as our 'how to' memory. How to ride a bike or cook a roast.”

“Or how to respond to a sad or happy event?” Teyla ventured.

“Yes,” Jennifer answered, the whole situation really hitting home. “Those responses don't require conscious thought, but they were based on something in our life and what shaped our response to things like past pleasure or danger.”

“Okay, I'm following you so far,” Lorne said, encouraging them to keep going.

“The next thing to be affected was behavior,” Rodney begun. “Sheppard's ability to regulate his emotions. Fear, anger, sadness. You get the picture.”

“Judgment and impulse control,” Woolsey jumped in.

“Exactly. And now we're getting into the things that separate us from other mammals,” Rodney added.

“Imagination and abstract thought. Our creative side and ability to think on a higher level. Problem solving.” Jennifer walked in a half circle in nervous energy. “And it could spread further.”

“It shouldn’t,” Rodney argued.

“Why?” Woolsey asked.

“Because all those things have one thing in common.” Rodney looked to his team. “Our personality. We're all built up by our patterns of thoughts, feelings, and behavior.”

“Someone wants to _be_ Sheppard,” Ronon said unconvinced.

Rodney, of all of them, should have seen it. “Or they want to experience what it's like to be human.”

\---

Rodney stood inside the electromagnetic field with Ten. Just the two of them. Having anyone else with him would've been counterproductive. He was the one who had insisted they bring Ten to Atlantis. He was the one who spent all his time with him. He was the one who had this... _this connection._

 _Now find a way to use it asshole,_ he berated himself.

“You know?” Ten asked.

“I do.”

Ten sat in his corner, giant knees bent upward for his arms to rest on top. It was the definition of sullen. “I was going to tell you.”

Of all the excuses! Rodney's blood boiled. “When? When Sheppard died?”

Ten's head whirred up, blue orbs midnight blue. “No! He shouldn't be sick. He should be...”

“Functional?”

“He should be fine.”

There had been all these subtle clues Rodney had missed. The sudden use of contractions. The physical gesture of support when he'd been upset. The more human change in word choice. All that damn pacing—one of the biggest signs of anxiety. But now wasn't the time for guilt.  
“If he's supposed to be fine, why is he dying?”

Ten clutched his legs closer to his chest, his blocky metal knees touching the wires poking out of his chest plate. A child inside an android’s body. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Rodney echoed.

“The program was designed to copy and translate his DNA.”

“You mean his operating system?” Ten averted his gaze. “How nice of you to use terms we know. Or should I say that Sheppard knows.” But berating and snapping wouldn't help matters and Rodney reigned in his emotions. “How did you do it?”

“Those who built me had conducted research into mechanical technology on the microscopic level. It was one of the ways they fused organic and artificial material in the A.I's of the later versions of my model. The research from the network was wiped away, but I rebuilt the mainframe piece by piece.” He shrugged, shoulders hissing. “I had decades. When your team arrived, it only took a few hours to create such a simple program.”

“When did you infect him?”

“Inside the fighter ship. Fur provided an unexpected distraction. It was...it was too hard to pass up. I did not anticipate Sheppard hitting his head, but it provided me an even easier opportunity to insert the virus.” Ten held his pinky finger in the air and a filament extended from the tip. “It was painless.”

Like hell it was.

“Unexpected? You just happened to walk around with a personality stealing virus?” It was an impossible test of wills to keep from exploding. “What was the point? You woke up one day and decided you wanted to see what it was like to feel all of those fantastic, annoying emotions? That sounds like the bad plot of every Star Trek episode.”

“I was left on the outpost because I did not prove as effective as my predecessors. I was created to help humans. All I wanted was to fulfill my objectives. When I was unable to, I felt…incomplete.” Ten played idly with one of his wires. “Do you feel anything when you throw away a computer?

“What? No.”

“It is a difficult thing not to achieve what you were programmed for. I knew one day I would serve humans once again. When your team arrived, I saw my next opportunity.” Ten stretched his neck out to look closer, eyes a deep sea blue. “I wanted to emulate you more and interact seamlessly. And if I acted less like a machine, maybe it would make it harder to depose of me the next time.”

Rodney was taken aback, his mind buzzing with countless questions. “Why him?” He wasn't sure why he wanted to know. “I mean...I thought...” God, was he jealous or something?

“You talked and acted like those who designed me. He didn't.” Rodney didn't understand and it must have been written all over his face. Ten tilted his head. “He spoke volumes without talking. Expressing one emotion while hiding another. He assigned a personality to the fighter ship, calling it a her.” Soft blue eyes became brilliant turquoise. “And...and he told me he would teach me to fly.”

“Of course. He charmed you. But guess what? You took that all away from him,” Rodney snarled. Ten fidgeted, joints hissing. “Help me. Tell me how to fix him.”

“I don't know how.”

“Your virus did more than copy his cells. Didn't it?”

“The programming provoked the desired areas of his brain in order to map and understand the responses before copying could take place.”

“You had to overstimulate each area to get enough data.” Rodney purposely moved closer to stand over the android. “The virus copied the results, but how did you receive the information?” Ten didn't response. Frustration and lack of sleep boiled over and he kicked Ten's leg. “Answer me!”

“Once the virus was inserted, it acted like a probe, stimulating and copying. Once that was complete, it would transmit the information and short out sequentially.”

No wonder it'd been nearly impossible to detect.

“Like a wireless network,” he mumbled. Staring back up at Ten, it was hard to control his own anger. “Tell me how to stop and reverse it.”

Ten pulled back further at being yelled at. “I don't know. I did not anticipate any damage or I wouldn't have initiated the program.”

“You want to be human? Learn from your mistake! Things don't always go according to plan, but you're still expected to fix things.”

Rising, hydraulics clicking loudly, Ten stood and walked passed him. “I don't know. I must attend to Fur.”

Rodney was beside himself. “You're blowing me off? Of course you are, because that's a very Sheppard thing to do when forced to face things you don’t want. But you're not getting away that easily.” Ten continued ignoring him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to fix him.”

“You can't. He's dying.”

Spinning around, Ten's body vibrated, spitting out some very familiar words. “I won't let him die.”

\-----

Rodney ran all the way back to the infirmary, fully aware his conversation with Ten had been seen live through a security feed. Not waiting to catch his breath, he made his way over to Jennifer's work area, pulling up Sheppard's latest scans.

“Rodney, what are you doing?” Jennifer asked following him.

“Finding answers. This ceased being your field of expertise and became mine.”

“But you didn't learn anything.”

“No, I confirmed a theory,” he answered without taking his eyes away from the computer screen.

“Which means we have a narrower focus in which to investigate now.”

“Rodney.”

“You don't understand. What you think is damage I believe is a break down or a type of short circuit. Maybe just a temporary shut down.”

“I don't—”

“Jennifer, listen to me,” he beseeched. “Sheppard's brain has been overwhelmed, but maybe the results are not destructive. You said the hyperactivity has caused the proteins and synapses to become inactive. What if it's a simple case of them shutting down?”

“You mean like faulty lock and key?” This time it was Jennifer who smiled at having to explain something. “Neurotransmitters fit into receptor sites on the neuron like keys into a lock. If the key doesn't fit, nothing happens; likewise, if the receptor site is blocked, nothing happens.”

“And things simply shut down?”

“Exactly.” But her excitement fizzled. “That doesn't change the fact that according to Ten, all of the stuff missing from John has been transferred away. There's nothing left.”

Rodney held up his finger in triumph. “But there is. A transfer means taking something from one place to another. Ten has all of John's missing...well, his missing data. We just need to get it back.”

Jennifer tensed, her face crestfallen. “It might be too late.”

“What? It's...it's never too late.”

“Woolsey wants me to use an EP field to destroy the virus.”

“But they're not nanites!” Rodney snapped. Why did everyone have to make such idiotic decisions?

“He feels they're close enough, and if the pulse disables them, then it impedes any further damage.”

It was déjà vu all over again—the argument over Elizabeth. One that Sheppard had been against.

“No. They're the only things that might be able to save Sheppard.”

“How?”

He felt a swell of adrenaline in his chest and he met Jennifer's intense gaze. “By having them give back what they took.”

“If anyone can find a way, it's you.” But once again, her optimism was short-lived. “While you were speaking with Ten, the colonel had another seizure. A bad one.”

Why couldn't they catch a break?

Rodney braced himself. “How bad?”

“We're still studying the results, but if the virus was targeting areas of personality, it's off course now, randomly effecting different parts of his brain.”

“But...”

“It's only a matter of time until it effects motor control, and then his body will eventually forget how to function.”

\---

  
He approached the bed cautiously, Teyla and Ronon flanking him. Sheppard didn't notice, preoccupied with a pencil and sheet of paper. His focus and determination was intense, as if he were solving a complex equation.

Amy, the head nurse in charge of Sheppard's care, nodded at them. “He woke up a little while ago. Dr. Kertesz hasn't conducted an examination since his last seizure. I'm not sure what you should expect.” Looking over her shoulder, she smiled maternally. “He found the notepad and pencil by his table and just started writing.” She turned back to them. “I'll let him know you’ve arrived.”

Walking over to his right side, she touched her patient's shoulder. “Colonel, your friends are here to see you.”

Hazel eyes blinked up at the nurse and did a slow sweep across his visitors, pausing at each face in concentration.

Teyla was first to step up with a warm a smile. “John?”

Sheppard blinked up in confusion, opening his mouth and pausing in uncertainty. “Tey-la?”

“Yes. It is good to see you. How do you feel?”

Sheppard stared at her. “I...” he squinted, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair, sending tufts everywhere. “I...”

“He feels like stuttering,” Rodney interrupted, saving Sheppard from his inability to answer the question. Stepping closer, he quirked an eyebrow. “Please tell me you know who I am?”

With a slight eye roll, Sheppard managed a, “R'dey.”

Ronon gave him a nervous sideways glance at Sheppard's difficulty with words, but the guy had just had another seizure and that earned him a pass in Rodney's book. “And do you know who Conan is?”

“R'in,” Sheppard replied, then closed his eyes in frustration. “Fuck!”

Taking the spotlight away from his current speech disability, Rodney took interest in the yellow notepad. “Are you doodling anything interesting?”

Taking up the pencil again, small tremors pulsed through Sheppard's fingers. “M-y n-name.”

All Rodney saw were endless scribbles of a person who didn't know how to draw letters, but Sheppard continued with the effort, despite how his fingers trembled. The shaking started to increase in intensity until there was slight jerk, the graphite weaving a large wavy line. Sheppard's eyes slammed close and flicked open again in a glassy haze.

“Are you alright, John?”

Rodney was seconds away from hitting the call button until Sheppard looked up groggily. “T-la?"

“Yes, I am here.”

Sheppard completed a slow pan of the room on each of their faces again before contemplating his pencil in confusion. “W’at?”

“You were writing your name,” Rodney answered.

“Oh.” Sheppard stared at the pencil, his hand still trembling, then looked over at Ronon.

“H-hey.”

“Hey, buddy.”

Sheppard dragged his gaze back to the notepad as if he'd never seen it. This time his whole body spasmed with a single jolt and stilled again. Eyes snapping shut and opening again, Sheppard looked up disoriented. “T'la?”

Wiping a tear from her eye, Teyla took Sheppard's hand. “I am here, John.”

  
\----

They stood outside the electromagnetic field, each with their assigned role, all three of them pushing away the anger and grief eating them up inside.

Rodney looked to Ronon and Teyla, each nodding when he gave the signal to allow them inside.

Ten greeted his visitors and Ronon strolled over in three quick steps. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't tear you apart?”

Flinching as if struck, Ten glanced over at the most familiar person and rubbed at the back of his neck in a very familiar manner. “Rodney, what's going on?”

Oh, my God. Ten had Sheppard's voice.

“Stop that.” Rodney commanded.

“Stop what?”

“Use your own voice,” Rodney answered.

“But this is my voice,” Ten defended. Stretching his long neck toward Teyla, he tilted his head. “Does it bother you?”

“It makes me upset,” Teyla responded softly.

“I'm sorry. I don't want to make you sad.” Teyla stepped closer and Ten held out his hand, gently placing the tips of his fingers on her shoulder. “Be careful, there are tools on the floor.”

Ronon kicked the tools out of the way and stared up menacingly at Ten's face. “Don't touch her.”  
“It's alright. I'm fine.” Ronon flashed his teeth at Ten and backed away as Teyla inclined her head. “Thank you.”

Ten's smile was a thick band of light.

“Please, would you help us?”

“Of course, Teyla,” Ten replied still mimicking Sheppard's voice.

“We think you may be able to help John.”

“I would love to help him, he has given me so much.”

Rodney bristled, balling his fists in restraint.

“We know you never meant to cause John harm,” she said kindly, repeating Sheppard's name as often as possible. Reminding Ten that he was a living person. “And if you help us, we know we can work together again. You want to continue repairing the fighter ship with us, don't you?”

“Yes!” Ten's eye gleamed sapphire. “I haven’t been allowed to work with the other teams in many hours. I do not wish to remain in this confined space.”

“We welcome your expertise, but we need your assistance.”

“Of course.”

“You told Rodney the program you used to copy John's DNA was transmitted back to you?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you retrieve the data?”

Ten's mouth thinned.

“I told you he'd lie to us,” Ronon growled. “We should shut him down and extract what we need.”

“No! It is a part of me. You cannot extract it like that.”

“You've assimilated Sheppard's information with your own?” Rodney asked.

“Yes, it is part of my programming.”

Rodney felt his heart sink, but he kept his expression neutral. “What about sending the information back?”

Ten's eyes dimmed and his long articulated fingers bounced a staccato beat on his hip.

“Told you,” Ronon hissed at Rodney. “We're better off dissembling him. Take our chances.”

They were on a tight rope, risking a possible violent defensive reaction. Self-preservation was a deep-rooted human instinct.

“Ten wants to help,” Teyla stated. “He's always wanted to help. It was what he was designed for.”

Ten nodded, but his eyes morphed into large saucers of light. “Something is happening. I don't...I'm not sure what's going on.”

“It's called guilt,” Rodney chimed in. “Sheppard carries a lot of it around. Or is it just a bunch of ones and zeros?”

“It must be a problem in my new programming.”

“No, it's one the most intense emotions a human can ever experience. I'm not sure how that translates inside all of those circuit boards, but it hurts us.”

“It is difficult to re-route.”

“It goes away when you do something about it. Like telling us if you can transfer the data back to Sheppard.”

“That is... possible.”

“That's great news, Ten,” Teyla praised.

“But I will lose everything.”

“Yeah, using cut and paste kind of sucks that way,” Rodney snapped.

Teyla sent him a glare and he shut up.

“But I'm still installing the programming. Maybe we can wait for another solution?”

“John doesn't have time to wait,” Teyla told Ten, touching his giant metal wrist.

“I don't want to lose what I have. When I close my eyes, I see the most beautiful skies. Ones I've never seen before, causing my processors to run faster than normal and my internal temperature to increase.” Ten brushed his fingers over Teyla's hand. “When I say your name, I see you in a tent drinking tea and the way you light up when you hold your baby.”

Still smiling, his head pivoted toward Rodney. “When I say yours, I see flashes of numbers and this game with hand-carved pieces. And there are many other things . There's this multicolored triangle on a string that sails in the air and the sound of laughing.”

Ten opened his arms wide toward Ronon. “And with your name—”

“Shut up!” Ronon growled. “They don't belong to you!”

“Ronon is right. Those memories, the way they make you respond, they do not are not yours.”

Ten lowered his arms. “But...”

“Do you understand the concept of stealing?” Rodney challenged.

The bottom of Ten's head dipped to the top of his chest plate. “Yes. It’s when you take something without permission.”

“But do you know it's wrong?” Rodney pushed. “If you really do have part of John inside you, then you are aware of the difference between right and wrong.”

“Not only that, you would want to help him.” Teyla placed her tiny hand in Ten's. “That is what John does. He helps people, and he'll put his life on the line doing it.”

“Compassion,” Ronon grunted. “Have you learned what that is?”

“I must get back to attending to Fur,” Ten answered, dropping Teyla's hand and bending to pick up one of his tools.

Rodney hadn't noticed the pet and saw it snuggled inside a borrowed uniform jacket. Ten lowered himself to his knees and playfully ruffled the top of the dog's head.

“You said you would do whatever it took to save Fur. What you're doing isn't compassion. It's selfishness.”

Ten snapped his head around at Rodney. “What do you mean?”

“Is it humane to prolong his suffering just to keep him around? Are you doing it for him or for yourself?” Rodney accused.

“You may not be able to save Fur, but you can save John,” Teyla pleaded. “If you wanted to learn what it was like to be human, then that is the greatest act you could do.”

\---

Ronon glared at Rodney while he paced in Jennifer's office. “I wasn't kidding about taking him apart.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Rodney snarled, feeling frazzled. “Which is why you played 'bad cop.'”

But the whole good cop versus bad cop with him as the neutral party hadn't worked. Once Ten had set his sights on his fuzzy little pet, they might as well have been the paint on the wall.

“Can't you just re-program him?” Ronon asked.

“Right, because I hadn’t thought of that? I wouldn't even know where to begin, let alone figure out how to strip Sheppard's...”

Consciousness? How did ones and zeros transfer to a personality? Rodney continued pacing. But ones and zeros _do_ transfer images, video, and data, don't they? It was the same concept. And what did Jennifer say? Once the virus copied what it needed, it accidental neutralized the healthy neurotransmitters.

“I say we take his pet,” Ronon suggested.

“We will do no such thing,” Teyla argued, both warriors facing each other.

“Why not?” Ronon growled, his frustration boiling over. “It's the only thing he cares about!”

“There must be some other way.” Teyla stood beside Rodney. “Didn't he say—”

 _“Doctor McKay?”_

Rodney held up a finger and slapped his headset. “Yes?”

 _“It's Sergeant Davidson. The android said he would begin the transfer, but he needs us to lower the shield.”_

He nearly pressed the earpiece into his skull. “Come again?”

 _“He said that all of the other transfers were completed when he was outside the shield. I don't know what he's—”_

“What are you waiting for?” Rodney shouted. “Do it!”

 _“I'll need authorization to—”_

“Fine, fine. I'll get Lorne.” Rodney cut the connection. Why did people have to make simple things complicated?

“I don't like this.”

Of course Ronon didn't.

Rodney ranted and raved with both Woolsey and Lorne, reminding them that they were dealing with an android unable to cope with or process real emotions and would they hurry the hell up and get with the program before Ten changed his mind.

 _“Dealing with an unpredictable android is the reason why we have to secure the jumper bay, Doc,”_ Lorne reminded him on the radio.

Jennifer entered her crowded office as he yelled at people to hurry up.

“Maybe we should slow down. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to have all of this data transferred back to Colonel Sheppard all at once.”

Rodney couldn't allow himself to think like that. “I'm not the one in charge of data storage.”

“If all the inactive neurons are blocked, then bombarding his brain with information might not work.”

Rodney shook his head. “You said the neurons were the lock and the neurotransmitters were the key. We're providing the key Sheppard needs. If we wait too much longer, what will happen with the virus?”

“If they stop transmitting, his brain would get rid of them, passing them through his spinal fluid.”

Grimacing at the gory details, Rodney added. “That or Woolsey will want to use an EP weapon and destroy the only things inside his brain capable of transferring everything back. Either way, can we afford to wait?”

\-----

Rodney entered Sheppard's cubicle where Teyla and Ronon were already gathered around his bed.

“Will this hurt him?” Teyla whispered.

“I don't know,” Jennifer admitted.

“Wht's g’ing on?” Sheppard slurred, eyes darting around the room at everyone surrounding him.

He tried to sit straighter, but didn't have the strength to lift himself up.

Ronon took the chair in front of him. “Did I ever tell you about the time a Nerombi warlord wanted me to marry both of his wives?”

It was hard to tell if Sheppard even knew where he was or if he recognized Ronon. It didn't matter. He'd forget in about three minutes and they'd have to start over again.

 _“Doctor McKay. This is Lorne. We've got the jumper bay secured. The android said he'll commence in three minutes and mentioned it had to be done in a single transfer. ”_

Rodney fought the urge to talk to Ten, to ask him a million questions before he was fundamentally changed. Did that make him a horrible friend?

But he didn't and he took a place by Sheppard's side, smiling even though the man was thankfully distracted by Ronon's tale, his eyes a dull shadow of their normal vibrancy. Teyla took a hold of one of John's hands to still the nonstop palsy that had rooted itself since that morning.

 _“Ten wants to know if you're ready?”_ Lorne radioed.

Jennifer gave Rodney a nervous glance, her attention on her patient. The other nurse, Amy, hovered nearby.

It was all up to him. Rodney looked to Sheppard, knowing he'd been given all of the man's trust. “Lorne, tell Ten he has a go.”

Three seconds passed. Twenty, then thirty. Rodney wiped at the sweat at his forehead, wondering if it had really worked and praying he wasn't frying the rest of John's mind.

Ronon stopped telling his story, watching Sheppard as the trembling ceased wracking his hands.

“Colonel? How are you feeling?” Jennifer eyed the equipment but still touched his wrist to monitor his pulse. “John?”

Sheppard's eyes drifted closed, his head lolling to his shoulder.

Then his whole body jerked, shaking the bed. It jerked again.

“Everyone back away,” Jennifer ordered as she gently cushioned Sheppard's head with her hands. “Amy, I want you to push 2 megs of diazepam per minute and lets get him on oxygen.”

Rodney stood frozen as the seizure went on and on and on, helpless to do anything. _Please, please,_ he begged to whomever would listen. _Let this be the right decision._

“You guys need to clear the area,” another nurse ordered as she stormed into the cubicle.

 _“McKay!”_ Lorne yelled on the radio.

“What?” Rodney snapped back, staring at the curtain that blocked his view.

 _“We've got a situation here.”_

\----

Rodney watched the dot on the display screen as it left orbit.

“How did the hell did this happen?” he demanded.

“According to Major Lorne, as soon as Ten was finished, he simply headed toward the fighter ship,” Woolsey informed him. “I am waiting for further details. Apparently, it happened so fast that there was hardly any time to react.”

“He stole the ship?”

Woolsey joined him next to the monitor. “It would appear.”

“But he doesn't have the gene!”

“Who says he didn't create it?” Radek suggested.

Fuming, his emotions shot to hell, Rodney pinned Radek with a fiery glare. “I thought you said that there were still major issues to be worked out before it would fly?”

Glancing up from one of the consoles, Radek shook his head. “It is not flight ready. The engines will most certainly overheat and most likely explode. Ten knew that.”

Rodney's stomach flip-flopped. Ten didn’t know how to fly either, but maybe he’d learned enough during the repairs to get airborne. “Lorne!” he yelled into the radio.

 _“Lorne here.”_

“Was Fur with Ten?”

 _“Who?”_

“His pet? Did he take it with him?”

 _“I think.”_

Spinning around, he snapped his fingers at Radek. “Get me a channel.”

“I can't. Communications were not restored.”

“Damn it!”

“Is he trying to return to his world?” Woolsey asked.

“No, the solar flares reached high M-class waves a couple of days ago. They would’ve wreaked havoc with all onboard systems.”

All Rodney could do was watch the dot move farther and farther away.

Then it disappeared.

\---

  
John woke up to soft, insistent chatter and a set of bongos inside his head.

“I saw his eyes move.”

“Was it a twitch? Because I hate to break it to you, but his whole body tends to twitch.”

“No, he definitely blinked.”

“That's not much different from twitching.”

“He's listening to us.”

The chatter died down, but not the drumming, and John craned his head to the side, three images blurring into view. “Whatz...” he licked at dry lips, trying to form the right sounds. “Wats...”

“You're in the infirmary. On Atlantis...um, do you know where that is?”

Long beautiful spires of a city on the sea entered his mind, the image stealing his breath. “Yeah.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Ysss, R'dy.” John grit his teeth, fighting annoyance at how the sounds got mixed up.

“Jennifer said it would take a while for you to regain your speech completely. Do not let it frustrate you.”

John nodded at Teyla, the motion setting off pounding drums, and he groaned.

“Want me to get Jennifer?” Ronon peered over him.

John shook his head. “Sta.”

“She probably already knows he's awake.” Rodney pointed at the monitoring equipment above John's head. “And who knows? Maybe we can get her to fix some of the more annoying parts of your winning personality while we're at it.”

John didn't think he had the ability to articulate to McKay just exactly what he thought about that idea, but there were more ways to communicate his feelings and he glared murderously.

Ronon smirked in approval.

John traced the crown of his head with his hand, hoping all that'd been lost would return. His hand shook at the thought, not from the beginnings of another spasm but from fear.

“We're not going anywhere,” Ronon's voice rumbled.

He searched their faces, eyes drifting to each one as they nodded in agreement.

“It will be a long road, but you will never be alone,” Teyla vowed.

His heart pounded along with the drumming in his head, and he knew he might lose it in front of them, unable to raise his walls like normal.

“Perhaps we'll give you a few minutes, but we will be right outside the curtain,” Teyla said, rising. Touching her head to his, she brushed away the moisture from his face. “It is good to have you back.”

–---

“S’op starin'.”

“Seriously? You have coils hanging above your head. It's weird,” Rodney defended.

Sheppard glowerd at him, but it was difficult to take the threat seriously with circular rings hanging above his skull by a ridiculous contraption.

“I ‘ate this.”

Rodney did a double take and refrained from the obvious joke. “Well, too bad. That thing uses electromagnetic induction to depolarize the neurons in your brain to help reactivate all your pathways.”

Sheppard raised in eyebrow in question.

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how much sleep I lost trying to save you? I wasn't about to allow them to ruin all of my hard work without reading up on the therapy. Especially when it looks like something bought on _eBay_ by crazed paranoids who don't want the government to read their warped minds.”

It'd been a week and they were still working on Sheppard's speech and helping with the severe mood swings. The virus was gone, thanks to a quick burst from an EP field. It would take weeks more for his brain chemistry to revert back to normal and start producing the right level of hormones. Not to mention healing the neurotransmitters and getting all the synapse to fire correctly again.

But they were getting there.

“W’at do ‘u hav’?”

Rodney stared down at the paper in his lap and picked it up. “I thought you might want to read this, and what I mean by that is I'll read it out loud. Ten wrote a note. I think it must have been after the three of us went to talk to him and when he agreed to transfer everything back.”

He cleared this voice.

“Thank you. Emotion without context is a program without instructions. Neither can be executed if they do not solve a problem. Merely functioning is not what I was programmed to do.”

Rodney felt his throat close a little and grabbed the glass of water on the table by the bed. “Nice, huh?”

Sheppard looked away and Rodney knew he risked another waterworks display that would undoubtedly scar the man who hated such things. He wouldn't put it pass Sheppard to have kept track so he could counter each one with more manly displays later.

“It's probably better this way. It's not like he could have returned home with all the solar activity, and after what he did to you, he'd be too much of a security risk to be allowed to roam around.”

“It was... hum'n.” Sheppard closed his eyes. “Hu-man…th-ing.”

Rodney looked at his friend with a sad smile. “I guess your right. In the end, he fulfilled his wish. His last act saved you and spared the one thing that meant more to him than I think he even realized....even if it was a bit more of a John Sheppard thing to do than I care for.”

Sheppard gave Rodney's shoulder a pat and gestured at his vocabulary flashcards.

“Alright, ready for another round? Maybe by next week we'll graduate to _Pictionary._ Hey, ow, don't hit me.”

Shuffling the cards, Rodney stared back down at the poem written below the note, thinking he would never discard another computer again.

  
\---

 _I walked in faraway lands  
Laughing, screaming, crying.  
I touched the sky on metal wings  
Breathing in sand, sea, and stars._

 _I walked in faraway lands  
On legs of flesh and bone.  
But the pain was not real  
My body an empty shell._

 _I never stood  
in those deserts  
woods or waves._

 _I don't need to._

 _\--Ten_  
\-----

Fini-

Feedback is always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for friendshipper for the secret santa exchange. Request: Something technology-related is killing John, and Rodney has to race a clock to figure it out -- John's trapped in a machine or infected with a nanite plague or replaced by a robot or had his brain stolen by aliens or something like that. (Feel free to rip off old episodes of Star Trek or SG-1 or whatever if there's one that strikes your fancy. :D) I love plotty, twisty stuff, especially if you have an idea for something mysterious and different to do to John, but just a simple, straightforward scenario with deadly peril and desperately worried team is also awesome! Other people being affected/infected is also fine if it suits the story, but not required (that is, I don't care if John is the only one or not). Though I would be fine with a happy ending, I'm also fine with the characters not being totally fixed at the end of the story, either. Whatever you think works best. And while I am not saying this is a must-have by any means, I always adore seeing Rodney go into hero mode, especially to save John; just sayin'. :D


End file.
